


Scars are for the living

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Changing Relationships, Coming In Pants, First Oral sex, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Saint, John teaches Sherlock about Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mrs Hudson used to be saucy!, Mutual Masturbation, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft is bloody lovely, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Poor Sherlock, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sex Talk, Sexual Inexperience, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Torture, Violence, sexploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s dreams are always standard and dull. He never has dreams where he’s flying or can breathe underwater. He dreams he can’t make a cup of tea as they’re out of milk or the colour in the beaker has changed too quickly to be scientifically sound.</p><p>He hopes he is dreaming now; hopeful that this is his first ever really intricate and realistic dream but deep down, he knows that it isn’t. He’s blindfolded and tied to something sturdy and unable to escape his bindings</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Event

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so fucking angry with myself. I left my phone open and when I returned, my stepson had decided to click buttons resulting in the entire work being deleted! So, now I'm having to reupload all of the chapters without the amazing comments. Sorry people!
> 
> Also, all names are chosen at random from websites, I know nothing of people with those actual names and am not suggesting that they have ever committed crimes.
> 
> Not Beta'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s dreams are always standard and dull. He never has dreams where he’s flying or can breathe underwater. He dreams he can’t make a cup of tea as they’re out of milk or the colour in the beaker has changed too quickly to be scientifically sound.
> 
> He hopes he is dreaming now; hopeful that this is his first ever really intricate and realistic dream but deep down, he knows that it isn’t. He’s blindfolded and tied to something sturdy and unable to escape his bindings.

Sherlock’s dreams are always standard and dull. He never has dreams where he’s flying or can breathe underwater. He dreams he can’t make a cup of tea as they’re out of milk or the colour in the beaker has changed too quickly to be scientifically sound.

He hopes he is dreaming now; hopeful that this is his first ever really intricate and realistic dream but deep down, he knows that it isn’t. He’s blindfolded and tied to something sturdy and unable to escape his bindings

* * *

 

** Earlier that day, **

‘Really?’ Sherlock tutted and rolled his eye ‘I don’t understand why you insist on spending time with the vacuous woman’

‘Victoria is nice’ John shrugged biting his tongue ‘she may not be as intelligent as you, but she’s kind and sweet’

‘and it’s your third date and you’re hoping for some sexual gratification’ Sherlock added without looking up from his position on the sofa.

‘What? No!’ John spat ‘Well… I don’t know. We’re going out for dinner and then seeing where the night takes us. Don’t wait up’

‘I won’t’ Sherlock sneered before standing and walking into his bedroom ‘Do ask her how her child is, won’t you?’

‘Her child?’ John spat angrily before spinning on his heel and walking to the bedroom ‘What child?’

‘Her three year old who she has left with her mother’ Sherlock replied through the door ‘Lock the door after you leave John’

Sherlock heard the doctor muttering angrily under his breath as he pulled on his jacket before slamming the front door without locking it. Sherlock rolled his eyes but continued undressing until he was comfortable in his pyjamas and climbed into his bed,

* * *

 

The door to his bedroom opened silently; the light of a torch the only visible presence in the flat as Sherlock’s eyes flickered open with confusion.

‘Wha?’ Sherlock grimaced before a hood was thrown over him and he was hit over the head with the heavy metal torch. Colourful stars bloomed in Sherlock’s vision before everything went black and quiet.

The larger thug quickly picked up the thin, unconscious body from the bed and threw him over his shoulder as they walked down the stairs and into the awaiting van.

Sherlock drifted in and out of consciousness on the journey, picking up small phrases like ‘The boss said’ and ‘Going to be rich’ before he would sink into darkness once more. He didn’t fight when they lifted him out of the van and dropped him onto the floor, tying his hands behind his back as they walked away leaving Sherlock in the silence of his surroundings.

The detective realised he would need to use his wits and intelligence to help himself out of his quandary. He tested the knots on the rope realising that they were sturdy and unescapable bindings, the first tendrils of fear began to rise through his stomach, a heavy and sick feeling building and expanding. Sherlock calmed his breathing and begins to deduce;

_It’s still dark outside, so he hasn’t been taken outside of London. He can hear the soft splash of water hitting something brick. The lingering smell of damp, rotting wood and wet ropes tingle his senses._

He couldn’t see under his hood, just a sliver of light and a hint of the dusty floor beneath his extended legs. His skin feels cold from the concrete where he’s been seated with only his thin pyjamas to protect him from the elements.

Sherlock heard a voice, followed soon after by another. His head jerked into the direction of the noise and he focused on what he can tell from their voices and posture,

_Eastern European, drug runners most likely, armed, highly trained and skilled._

‘Mr Holmes’ the first man speaks ( _mid-thirties, Ukrainian, judging by the accent from Odessa)_ ‘You should lock your doors at night. Lots of criminals in the area’. Sherlock can hear him smiling

‘I’ll bear that in mind’ Sherlock retorts sharply, his voice sounds strained and thick to his own ears; he tastes blood as his split lip leaks and realises he’s missing a tooth.

‘You should warn Dr Watson’ the man smirks ‘I’m sure you’d hate anything bad to happen to your… companion’

Sherlock snarls from under his hood ‘Am I here to be bored to death with your threats? Or is there a point to my abduction?’

‘Oh there certainly is a point’ his captor replies cryptically ‘I can’t say you’ll enjoy it though’

* * *

 

John walked back to Baker Street in a fury. Victoria hadn’t been impressed when John asked about her child, ( _a 3-year-old child named Isaac)_ and had accused John of spying on her. When the doctor had explained that Sherlock had deduced it, Victoria had begun a furious tirade against the detective and his meddling. John hadn’t bothered to calm her down, instead, he left and walked back to have a conversation with Sherlock about personal boundaries ( _and possibly ruining a date AFTER he’d finally got his end away)_

The door to Baker Street was open an inch, John’s stomach dropped as he pushed open the heavy black door and softly stepped inside. He scanned the entryway and found nothing suspicious so walked up the stairs cursing Sherlock for leaving the house open for burglars.

He stopped as he reached the living room, something was wrong. He noticed the muddy footprints leading from the staircase into the living room and down to Sherlock’s bedroom where the door was standing wide open ( _not unusual. Sherlock rarely closed his door)_ but the sheets on Sherlock’s bed were rumpled as though he had left in a hurry. John knew that Sherlock _always_ made his bed, whether they were called in for an emergency case or not, Sherlock insisted on making his bed.

John took out his mobile and called Sherlock; a vibrating noise from the bedside table showed that Sherlock hadn’t taken his phone.

_John’s stomach flipped._

He stopped the phone call and dialled Lestrade,

‘Alright mate’ Lestrade answered in a friendly tone,

‘Yeh not bad, don’t suppose you have Sherlock with you?’ John asked, attempting to keep his cool.

‘Sherlock? No. Not with me’ Greg replied ‘is he not at Baker Street?’

‘I’m here now, the door was open and his beds unmade. I’m a bit worried’ John admitted.

‘Could he be with Mycroft? Or Molly?’ Greg suggested,

‘I’ll ring them now. Cheers Greg’ John said,

‘Text me and let me know. See ya mate’

John disconnected the call and tried Molly who replied the same way; she hadn’t seen Sherlock for a few days. John took a deep breath and tried Mycroft who answered on the second ring,

‘Dr Watson’ the posh voice oozed through the speakers ‘what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Is Sherlock with you?’ John asked nervously,

‘No. Why?’ Mycroft replied coolly,

‘He’s not at Baker Street, he’s not with Molly or Lestrade. I thought he could be with you’ John muttered ‘The front door was open when I came in and his beds unmade’

John could have sworn he heard Mycroft’s breathing hitch slightly before he replied ‘Could he be with Mrs Hudson? Or his network?’

‘Mrs Hudson is away’ John replied ‘and he’d never go out without his phone. It’s here on the bedside’

‘I see’ Mycroft muttered ‘I’ll get back to you’

‘Thanks’ John replied as he disconnected and slumped onto Sherlock’s bed whispering _where are you_ to the empty room.

* * *

 

Everything hurt.

His whole body seemed to be burning with pain as he lay on his side on the cold concrete. He was still hooded but his hands had been freed in order for his captors to beat him again and again. Sherlock had deduced it was him against four weapon wielding thugs but he had fought back, his fist connecting with one in the stomach and winding him before the other three grabbed him and began hitting him with metal poles. Sherlock attempted to fight back but it was no good, they soon had him pinned to the ground and screaming.

‘That was a stupid decision Mr Holmes’ the Ukrainian said from behind him ( _he wasn’t one of the thugs then. So there are at least 5 of them)_

Sherlock shuddered as his pyjama bottoms were cut from his legs, baring his nakedness to the group,

‘Get him up boys’ the Ukrainian said as he unfastened his own belt,

Sherlock vaguely remembered begging for mercy; begging for him to stop, pleading and praying until his voice was hoarse and his mind was dulled with the pain of being taken again and again.

* * *

 

John sat on his chair sipping at the lukewarm tea as he heard the sound of a car pull up. Jumping from his seat he paced to the window and watched Greg and Mycroft enter from the sleek black car and walk into Baker Street.

‘John’ Mycroft greeted him coolly ‘have you heard anything?’

‘Me? No’ John said angrily ‘why would I know anything?’

Mycroft sat and pulled open his briefcase bringing out a portable DVD player and setting it up. John sat beside him and watched the screen as a slightly fuzzy image of Baker Street came onto the screen,

‘This is from the CCTV’ Mycroft explained pointing to the doorway as John left for his date with Victoria,

‘Yeah I left for my date’ John agreed watching carefully,

‘Okay so skip forward’ Mycroft pressed a button and stared at the screen until the timestamp said ’21.43’

John watched as a transit van pulled up to the front of the flat; they couldn’t see the driver but could clearly see two men climb from the passenger seats and another from the back begin walking towards the door. Two men created lookout posts as the third opened the unlocked door and all three entered up the stairs, John watched horrified as moments later they returned carrying a hooded Sherlock over one shoulder; placing him in the van the driver drove off.

‘Shit’ John whispered looking at Mycroft with huge eyes ‘Shit, who are they? What do they want?’

‘We traced the van’ Greg said from across the room ‘It was stolen and forensics didn’t show anything. It had been cleaned to perfection… even Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t have found anything’

Mycroft cleared his throat ‘He must have been unconscious under the hood otherwise he would have left a sign, a clue’

‘Do you know who they are?’ John pleaded,

‘I have theories, I’m awaiting validation on those so I can continue my enquiries’ he spoke softly ‘but I wasn’t sure if it was a kidnap for ransom or something more… sinister’

‘Is it Moriarty?’ John whispered remembering his own terror as he was forced into the explosive jacket.

‘No. I don’t think so’ Mycroft replied,

‘What can we do?’ John asked nervously ‘How can I help?’

‘Don’t do anything rash Dr Watson’ Mycroft insisted ‘You could make it worse’

* * *

 

Sherlock heaved as blood trickled down his thighs; he had been sick twice which had resulted in another kick to the ribs as he was handed around the group of men to be used and taken multiple times. He tried to retreat into his mind palace, _find Redbeard, find Redbeard, find Redbeard,_ his brain screamed as his body was racked with another wave of agony.

A sickening shudder ran through his body as an orgasm was forced from his body from the constant pounding against his prostate.

It didn’t feel good; it didn’t feel nice, he felt as though his entire body was rebelling against him in the most traitorous way.

‘Ohhh Dmitry, he likes you’ the Ukrainian chuckled ‘look at that mess’

Sherlock gagged as two large fingers were pushed into his mouth covered in his own cooling emission, dust and grime clung to the moisture from the floor making Sherlock’s throat hurt from swallowing.

‘Oh, Mr Holmes. I’m enjoying this’ his captor spoke, his face only millimetres away from Sherlock’s hood,

‘Y-Yes. I’m sorry, I am too’ Sherlock grimaced ‘I like what you do to me’

‘You’re a terrible liar’ the voice answered before grabbing Sherlock’s hand and pulling on one of his digits until it cracked and sent a new wave of pain through Sherlock.

* * *

 

** Hours later: **

The whimpering was louder as she rounded the corner of the abandoned warehouse. She had been looking for lead or copper to sell for food and stumbled across the dilapidated building which looked promising. Peering into the large warehouse her breath hitched as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

A man, a naked and hooded man streaked with blood and filth.

Natalie sneaked closer to the lone man; looking around her with every step as she closed in and lifted the hood from the battered face,

‘Mr Holmes!’ she cried as she recognised the bruised and bloody features of her friend, a man to whom he owed so much. As a member of Sherlock’s network, she relied on Sherlock’s generosity for food and no questions asked medical care from John.

‘John Watson. Greg Lestrade. M-Mycroft’ Sherlock whispered, his voice a broken croak ‘Scotland Yard’

‘Yes. Yes, I’ll go now. Okay. it’ll be okay, I’ll be quick’ the young girl promised 'I'm sorry but I need to put the hood back on in case they come back' she whispered watching Sherlock nod in terrified despair, Natalie pulled the hood back into position before fleeing into the London dusk.

* * *

 

‘Sir, there’s a young lady to see you’ the desk sergeant said as he called up to Greg’s office ‘Says it’s important’

‘Ask her what it is’ Greg replied tensely, his mind not really on any task other than finding Sherlock,

Greg heard a moment of conferring before the officer replied ‘She said it’s Sherlock. She knows where he is’

Greg threw down the phone and sprinted to the stairs; taking them three at a time and knocking a tray of tea from the arms of another detective in his rush. He ran through the office until he reached the reception and looked down at the young homeless girl standing at the desk.

‘Where is he?’ he barked watching as she told him the exact location and was then taken to an interrogation room for when they returned.

Greg grabbed both his mobiles and called Mycroft and John at the same time giving them the address and rushing to his car after calling for backup.

* * *

 

Sherlock sat on the cold floor; his body shaking painfully as he counted down the time it would take for Natalie to reach the station, then the 10 minutes it would take for the police to come through, maybe less if Mycroft found out first. He hissed in pain as he attempted to move his shoulder from its position against the metal pole where he had been chained.

* * *

 

John grabbed his coat and gun and ran towards the docks. His stomach lurched and his chest burnt from running so hard but he was entirely focussed on finding Sherlock first. He thankfully knew every alleyway and shortcut in London thanks to his time with Sherlock so shaved off four minutes of traffic, reaching the building in record time. He took out his gun and swept the area efficiently before rushing into the warehouse,

The smell was the first thing to hit him; _blood, semen, rotting wood, the Thames, human excrement, stomach bile and urine._

His hand didn’t shake as he swept the building looking for trouble. His heart pounded and bile rose in his throat as his eyes focussed on the small figure chained to the metal beam supporting the roof. Sherlock sat naked, smeared in his own filth and blood, shaking wildly as he tracked the sounds of footsteps approaching.

‘Please’ he begged ‘I’m sorry, I’ll be good, please’

‘Oh god, Sherlock’ John sighed rushing towards his best friend and placing a hand on Sherlock’s arm, shocked at the screaming reaction from the detective who bucked wildly at the sensation,

‘No, NO NO NO NO NO!’ Sherlock cried ‘I’ll be good’

John swallowed back the lump in his throat, moving his hand away from Sherlock as he began to speak softly ‘It’s okay Sherlock, it’s me, it’s John’

‘It’s a trick’ Sherlock sobbed ‘a trick, a trick’

‘It’s not a trick, it’s me. It’s John Watson’ the doctor soothed ‘Can I take your hood off, you can see then?’

Sherlock whimpered pathetically and flinched as John reached for his hood and slowly raised it off the swollen head beneath, gasping as he saw Sherlock’s face for the first time.

 _I will kill every fucking person who even touched this man_ John’s brain screamed _slowly and painfully, I will kill them all_

Sherlock blinked his right eye ( _his left had swollen closed and was now a purplish black colour)_ and focused on John’s face, he couldn’t see anything but John’s outline but he could smell John’s body, the smell of lavender fabric conditioner, of deodorant and smoky wood from the fire at Baker Street. John smelt of home and care.

‘J-John’ Sherlock whimpered,

‘It’s okay. I’ve got you’ John whispered but kept his distance from touching Sherlock ‘I’m here now, and Greg’s coming, and Mycroft. I bet Mycroft has the whole SAS coming for you, probably has Bear Grylls parachuting in especially for your extraction’ John attempted to joke.

A single tear ran down Sherlock’s cheek as he closed his eyes tightly, realising how he must look to anybody walking in.

John noticed too, the smell of waste and urine lingered around Sherlock’s nakedness. John took off his coat and jumper, carefully wrapping the fabric over Sherlock’s front so he was at least covered when backup arrived.

The sounds of sirens came closer, John stood to his feet and screamed for Greg and Mycroft; letting him know where he was and that he was alone with Sherlock. Lestrade jogged in with his gun raised before lowering it when he saw John standing beside the detective, Mycroft followed soon after.

‘Oh Jesus’ Greg croaked looking down at Sherlock’s broken body,

‘We need someone to cut him out of the chains’ John insisted ‘It’s padlocked’

Greg nodded and radioed for the bolt cutters which promptly arrived; John soothed Sherlock quietly, whispering soft words of encouragement as the officer moved behind him. Sherlock cringed and cried in alarm as the man came close to him; close enough to smell the horrifying stench which lingered around the detective. The officer swiftly cut the metal before removing himself from the scene with a sad shake of his head.

John looked up and saw the look of horror on Mycroft’s face; his usually stoic features contorted into anguish and pain as he looked down at the shadow of his baby brother, broken and crumpled against the concrete.

‘We need to get him to hospital’ John screamed ‘Now’

Mycroft nodded and motioned for the paramedics to enter and begin working on Sherlock. They wheeled in a stretcher and with John’s help managed to get a screaming and violent Sherlock onto the bed. John watched in alarm as Sherlock thrashed against the bed as paramedics attempted to touch him to look at his wounds,

‘Sherlock, Sherlock it’s okay. They need to check you over’ John soothed, looking away from the blood covered skin of Sherlock’s thighs.

‘Don’t touch me! Get off! Mycroft, John!’ Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs ‘Don’t leave me’

Both men looked at one another and nodded to the paramedics as they prepared a sedative, pushing the plunger into Sherlock’s leg he went still and collapsed back onto the stretcher, allowing them to wheel Sherlock out of his torture chamber.

‘Wait’ Mycroft ordered; grabbing John’s jumper and coat which had fallen to the floor, he wrapped the fabric around Sherlock before pulling a blanket over Sherlock’s broken body.

The paramedics lifted Sherlock into the ambulance and allowed both John and Mycroft to climb in the back with him. Nobody spoke on the short journey to the hospital, the only sound being the siren and a soft whimper from Sherlock’s sedated lips.


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘John, what the inspector is saying is that you need to leave so we can discuss the intricacies of the ordeal. You can stay if you like, but I imagine it won’t be pleasant. Also, you need to shower’ Sherlock said softly from his bed, his face ashen at the thought of having to relive his worst moment.
> 
> ‘Oh,’ John nodded ‘Oh right. I can stay if you like… but id quite like to get back, let Mrs Hudson know you’re okay’
> 
> ‘Please’ Sherlock nodded
> 
> ‘Do you want anything bringing back? Pyjamas? Dressing gown?’ John asked as he shrugged on his coat which had been delivered via Mycroft as his other one (including his jumper) had been sent off for forensic testing.
> 
> ‘Violin?’ Sherlock asked hopefully
> 
> ‘I don’t think that’s allowed’ John smiled
> 
> ‘Just clothes then, underwear. Follow my index please’ Sherlock ordered
> 
> ‘Will do’ John smiled, ‘See you soon then’

John and Mycroft sat silently in the private room which had been designated for Sherlock’s recovery. John had made tea but neither drank it, instead, allowing it to go cold in their hands.

The doctors had initially refused to give information to John ( _he wasn’t a family member or partner. He wasn’t entitled to know)_ but after hastily hissed warnings from Mycroft the doctors had agreed to bend the rules and explained the full list of trauma to Sherlock’s body. John’s stomach clenched as the wounds were read out to him;

_Fractured cheekbone, detached retina, broken nose, broken wrist, 3 broken fingers, fractured and broken ribs, bruised liver, muscle damage to the shoulder and thigh, a perforated bowel and severe rectal tears._

Sherlock was currently in theatre having his broken limbs reset and plastered as well as internal stitches. He was expected to make a full recovery but would be kept sedated for 24 hours to allow his body to rest after the trauma. John agreed with the treatment plan ( _he would have done the same thing to a patient suffering the same)_ and retreated into the hospital room to wait for Sherlock.

* * *

 

‘Mycroft’ John whispered towards the pale-faced politician,

‘Hmm? Sorry’ Mycroft answered after a few stretched moments ‘, John’

‘Do we know who they are? What they wanted?’ John asked cautiously ‘Why him?’

‘I don’t know’ Mycroft admitted, his eyes lingering on the small shape of Sherlock looking pale-faced and broken in the bed beside them ‘But I will find out, and not a fucking person on this earth will come between me, them and the most painful and excruciating death’

John shivered as he looked over at Mycroft and realised that Sherlock was right on the first night they met. Mycroft was the most dangerous man he’d ever meet, but, John didn’t care. He wanted Mycroft on his side when these bastards were found.

‘John’ Mycroft turned to look at the doctor ‘I can arrange home help or an extremely discreet nurse if you feel you’re unable to take on the burden of his care’

‘Don’t’ John threatened ‘Don’t even finish that thought. He’s my best friend and I’m going to take care of him’

Mycroft nodded; John was momentarily stunned to see a build-up of tears in the politician’s eyes before they disappeared with a blink ‘Very well’

‘But’ John added

‘I’ll give you any information I find’ Mycroft finished ‘I _may_ be able to include you in the questioning but I cannot promise’

John nodded and lowered his head ‘Thank you’

Mycroft stood gingerly and walked to Sherlock’s side; his long fingers lingered over the filthy curls on Sherlock’s head before Mycroft swept down to press a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. John looked away, unable to control his emotion at seeing the intimate and loving gesture between the two brothers; his breathing caught in his throat as Mycroft walked past and placed a hand on John’s shoulder silently before leaving to continue the search.

* * *

 

‘John’ Sherlock whispered hoarsely, his eyes rolling beneath his thin eyelids.

‘I’m here Sherlock’ John whispered, inching closer to the hospital bed where Sherlock lay, the doctors had steadily reduced his sedation and allowed him to gently come around by himself without any major intervention. John had refused to leave his side.

‘John’ Sherlock whispered again,

The older man stretched out his hand and tentatively ran his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s knuckles, a brief whisper of touch intended for comfort. Sherlock’s eyes flicked open as he looked panicked around the room, his voice hoarse from screaming and crying over numerous days.

‘Hey, hey it’s me’ John soothed moving his hand away ‘I’ve got you, you’re safe’

Sherlock’s eyes scanned the room and took in his surroundings as he finally exhaled the breath he had been holding. He slumped back onto his bed and held his head in his hands, wincing and gasping with pain at the agony which surrounded his hands and face.

‘How bad was it?’ Sherlock asked monotone, his voice deeper and huskier than John had ever heard it.

‘Let’s just focus on getting you better Sherlock yeah?’ John began before being cut off by Sherlock’s growl,

‘Tell – me’ he paused between each word, ‘I need to know’

John inhaled shakily and listed the injuries; his voice cracking at the internal trauma before he could control his vocal chords.

‘Well’ Sherlock grimaced and looked away ‘Thank you for your concern doctor’

John narrowed his eyes and stared at his best friend ‘What do you mean?’

‘I thank you for being here when I woke up, but I don’t want to keep you’ Sherlock attempted to sound threatening, instead sounding lost and broken ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine’

‘No Sherlock’ John glared at his best friend ‘Stop this, right now’

‘I don’t need pity’ Sherlock spat,

‘I’m not pitying you, I’m caring about you. There is a difference. You’re my best friend and I will be here day and night until security has to drag me from the building, and even then, I’ll find my way back into you’ John sniffled before turning his face from Sherlock and controlling his emotion ‘because you would do the same for me. You did the same for me’

‘It’s hardly the same’ Sherlock whispered,

‘You saved me from killing myself’ John whispered ‘I owe you for that’

‘John’ Sherlock started before looking away ‘I can’t … I mean… It’s…’

‘I know’ John whispered ‘It’s going to be alright’

‘It’s all fine’ Sherlock mumbled as his head fell back against the pillow in exhaustion,

John began to laugh and cry at the same time, looking over at his bruised and beaten best friend and nodding ‘hold up your finger’,

Sherlock frowned but held up his index finger quizzically, watching as John joined his own fingerprint to Sherlock’s. The closeness wasn’t too physical to scare Sherlock but it was enough to show how much John wanted to comfort him.

‘Is this okay?’ John asked carefully, watching Sherlock nod and his eyes brim with tears.

The two men pulled apart as DI Lestrade entered the room with a large bunch of flowers signed from the Yard. John smiled at Greg as he walked through the door and was greeted with a pat on the back ‘John. You should go home, get some sleep’ Greg said gently ‘you haven’t slept for days’

‘I’m okay’ John insisted ‘really’

‘John, what the inspector is saying is that you need to leave so we can discuss the intricacies of the ordeal. You can stay if you like, but I imagine it won’t be pleasant. Also, you need to shower’ Sherlock said softly from his bed, his face ashen at the thought of having to relive his worst moment.

‘Oh,’ John nodded ‘Oh right. I can stay if you like… but id quite like to get back, let Mrs Hudson know you’re okay’

‘Please’ Sherlock nodded

‘Do you want anything bringing back? Pyjamas? Dressing gown?’ John asked as he shrugged on his coat which had been delivered via Mycroft as his other one (including his jumper) had been sent off for forensic testing.

‘Violin?’ Sherlock asked hopefully

‘I don’t think that’s allowed’ John smiled

‘Just clothes then, underwear. Follow my index please’ Sherlock ordered

‘Will do’ John smiled, ‘See you soon then’

* * *

 

John had hardly reached the end of the ward before his phone chimed with a text from Greg simply saying **I’ll stay here tonight. Get some sleep – GL**

John’s legs buckled from beneath him as he grabbed the wall desperately trying to hold himself up as sobs were ripped from his throat. His stomach ached and his head burnt from the painful cries but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold in the hurt and pain any longer. He finally stopped when a kind nurse brought over a brown paper bag and had him carefully inhale and exhale at her command.

The black car was waiting outside; Anthea stood at the open door and ushered John inside with a rare smile for the man. Neither of them spoke on the way back to Baker Street, Anthea tapped on her phone as John stared out of the window, wondering how to fix this situation.

* * *

 

John fell into Baker Street and carefully knocked on Mrs Hudson’s door; the landlady opened it with a smile and grabbed John tightly, pulling him in for a comforting embrace.

‘How is he?’ she asked

‘He’s… not good’ John admitted, running his hand over the back of his neck nervously,

Mrs Hudson nodded and turned her back, walking through to the kitchen and grabbing a selection of plastic boxes ‘I boxed you up some dinner’ she smiled warmly ‘and this one here has the scones that Sherlock enjoys so much. Take them up to the hospital dear’

John nodded and pressed a kiss to his landlady’s cheek before turning and heading to the flat. He warmed his food and ate in silence, showered and immediately retired to bed, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep in his exhaustion.

* * *

 

‘Ukrainian you say?’ Greg asked as he scribbled down notes. He had also insisted on taping the conversation to ensure that Mycroft could have his own copy of the document;

‘Yes. The leader was from Odessa, I recognised the accent’ Sherlock replied ‘There was also one named Dmitry’

‘Okay, that’s good’ Lestrade replied ‘Did they say why they took you?’

Sherlock closed his eyes and fought down the bile which threatened to rise from his throat. He swallowed deeply before shaking his head ‘No. But I have an idea’

The case had been a simple one; numerous young women had been trafficked from Eastern Europe with the promise of a career and life in the UK, once smuggled into the country they had been forced to work as prostitutes or drug runners for a major Ukrainian mob. Sherlock had followed up the leads, freed the women and arrested the mob boss who was quickly charged and deported back to Ukraine to serve his prison sentence in solitary confinement. Thinking that the case was over, Sherlock had immediately deleted the information and forgot about it until his abduction.

‘But the bloke is supposed to be in Solitary?’ Lestrade sighed ‘How did he get the word out’

‘I suppose it’s easy when you’re the highest governing mob boss in the country. People owe him a lot of favours’ Sherlock shrugged before wincing with pain.

‘Okay,’ Greg winced with sympathy ‘Now, I know it’s horrible and I can’t imagine what you’re going through… but the assault’

‘Five men’ Sherlock stated matter of fact ‘Numerous times. Repeatedly. I assume they meant to kill me as they didn’t use protection so their DNA should be present in the kit’

‘Fuck’ Greg grimaced ‘Sherlock, do you want to speak to a specially trained officer? I’m not sure what to do’

‘You’re doing fine’ Sherlock soothed ‘I don’t trust anybody else’

Greg realised that he should be the one soothing his friend; he should be the one who told him that he was doing fine and everything would be okay but he found he couldn’t. Sherlock would know he was lying.

‘Obviously, the doctor has run the relevant tests for… diseases’ Greg winced ‘I think Mycroft has them being rushed through as an urgent case’

Sherlock nodded; the painkillers were beginning to wear off now and his discomfort was becoming apparent. He wanted to sleep but he was scared to close his eyes, the darkness reminded him of the hood, he didn’t want to sleep without John being around him to protect him.

‘Is John coming back tonight?’ he asked Lestrade quietly,

‘I told him to go home and get some rest’ Greg replied ‘he’s been at your bedside for the past 3 days without moving. I’m pretty sure I witnessed him peeing in a bottle rather than leave your side’

Sherlock huffed out a laugh and winced at the pain in his ribs ‘He’s a stubborn man’

‘Half as stubborn as you’ Greg smiled ‘but I’ll stay here tonight if you like. I’ve got some old cold cases I thought we could work on if you weren’t too tired’

Sherlock nodded; he knew that Greg wasn’t interested in his opinion on the cold cases. They weren’t even from the Yard so obviously Greg had asked around to give Sherlock something else to think about instead of his trauma, also, Greg was obviously worried about leaving Sherlock alone so soon after his ordeal and offered to stay at his side without actually suggesting it.

‘Thank you’ Sherlock nodded ‘But I think I’m due some medication. I may not be able to focus’

‘Do you think you’d be as bad as Anderson?’ Lestrade smiled

‘I said unable to focus. Not brain dead’ Sherlock quipped, clicking the button to call the nurse.

* * *

 

‘You look better’ John smiled as he entered Sherlock’s room. The detective still looked like shit but he had a little more colour in his cheeks,

‘John!’ Sherlock said excitedly ‘They won’t let me have a shower!’

‘I’ll speak to them’ John soothed ‘but tell me how you’re feeling’

‘Everything still hurts. I’m still taking regular morphine and Lestrade shouted at me’ Sherlock pouted

‘I shouted at him because he called Anderson an incompetent prick’ Lestrade sighed walking from the toilet area ‘over the phone. Despite Anderson not being involved in any of the cases we were looking at’

‘I haven’t told him in over a week. He’ll have forgotten’ Sherlock gestured ‘Don’t want him forgetting how dreadful he really is’

John and Greg shared a look before the doctor put the box of scones onto the sideboard which had doubled as Sherlock’s dresser ‘Mrs H sent them for you’

‘Oh,’ Sherlock smiled ‘Blueberry? They’re my favourite’

‘Right, I better get going’ Lestrade smiled as he patted John on the shoulder ‘make sure he gets some rest. He didn’t sleep last night’

John nodded and waved to Lestrade before sitting on the chair beside Sherlock’s bed and crossing his legs ‘You didn’t sleep?’

‘Couldn’t’ Sherlock shrugged ‘This hospital is so loud and they come in every few hours to check my blood pressure and stats’

‘It’s only until they know you’re stable; it’ll stop soon’ John soothed picking up a scone and pulling it apart in clumps ‘is that the only reason you didn’t sleep?’

‘Why else would it be?’ Sherlock asked tetchily, glaring at John.

‘Some people find it hard to sleep after a trauma. When I was injured I didn’t have a good night sleep until…’ John started but stopped before adding _until I moved into Baker Street with you,_

Sherlock seemed to understand John’s discomfort at talking about his own night terrors and looked out of the window ‘Can I look in the mirror yet?’

The swelling on the detective’s face had gone down slightly; the once swollen shut eye had reduced to allow Sherlock to lift the eyelid to show the mottled and bloodshot eyeball beneath which made John’s eyes water whenever he saw it. He still had black bruises on most of his face and his lip was still swollen and split but he looked slightly more human,

‘Maybe in a few days’ John soothed taking a bite of his scone,

‘Do you know the folklore about mirrors?’ Sherlock asked grabbing his own scone and pulling it apart to pick out the blueberries.

‘No, I don’t think I do’ John admitted,

‘Mirrors were often used in magical and psychic rituals for scrying, that’s remotely viewing another person or place and communicating’ Sherlock explained ‘some ancient cultures believe that mirrors reflected the ‘shadow soul,’ and could show the true nature of the person being reflected. It’s thought to have contributed to the legends about vampires and demons having no reflections since they are said to have no souls to reflect’

John nodded, enraptured as he listened to Sherlock speak and pick apart the scone,

‘Mirrors reveal all your lies, your secrets and the truth. Mirrors give a true reflection of your soul which is why it’s bad luck to break them.’ Sherlock whispered, looking up sadly at John and then back out of the window.

‘Sherlock? Are you okay?’ John asked carefully, shuffling closer to the bed.

‘Hmm? What? Oh yes, I’m just tired’ Sherlock mumbled, letting the scone fall idly to his table ‘I think I’ll try to sleep… will you stay with me?’

John nodded and took out his book from his bag, holding it open and pretending to read as he digested the cryptic discussion on mirrors.

* * *

 

_It was dark._

_It was always so dark and cold in the warehouse; his feet ached from the cold and his body shivered as he pulled his legs in closer to his body to try to conserve body heat. He heard the familiar tap tap of footfalls coming towards him; the sound of one of the men coughing up phlegm and spitting it out._

_He whispered he was sorry, that he would be good._

_They didn’t listen._

_They didn’t stop,_

_Again, again, again. Constant pain and agony ripping through his body, his stomach voiding into the hood as they pushed into him harder and harder. Laughing, laughing, laughing._

_‘I’m sorry’ he screamed ‘please’_

_John’s voice echoed around the warehouse. The doctor was begging Sherlock for something, pleading and emotional as Sherlock’s torment continued,_

_‘John?’ he screamed, his voice hoarse from crying and retching ‘John where are you?’_

_‘I’m here Sherlock, I’m right here’ the voice replied from somewhere far away ‘Come back to me’_

_John was an idiot. He couldn’t leave the warehouse, he was chained and he had promised his captors that he would be good._

_The vomit from his hood dripped into his face; liquid running down his chin and chest as his eyes blinked open._

_He wasn’t in the warehouse._

* * *

‘Christ’ John gasped as he flicked water onto Sherlock’s face to rouse him from his nightmare ‘Sherlock please, come back’

John had been sitting beside the bed reading for over an hour as Sherlock slept peacefully; the detective snored lightly as John turned page after page of his dreadfully dull novel to keep him occupied. He considered watching the match on Sherlock’s TV but didn’t want to disturb the sleeping detective so focussed on the book instead listening for any signs of distress;

Sherlock whimpered in his sleep occasionally although it didn’t worry John, he looked up from his book before settling back down. When Sherlock began to cry and thrash on the bed, the doctor immediately began to panic and carefully call Sherlock’s name attempting to coax him from his sleep.

John’s heart thumped quickly in his throat; bile rose from his stomach as he looked down at his best friend struggling with an unholy terror which John could never even imagine. Dipping his fingers into the water jug on the bedside table, he flicked the fluid onto Sherlock’s pained face and spoke softly; watching as Sherlock blinked open his eyes and focussed on John’s face,

‘John?’ Sherlock asked weakly, his voice sounding lost.

‘It’s ok, I’ve got you’ John soothed desperate to stroke Sherlock’s hair or pull him close for a hug but remembering Sherlock’s reaction last time he was touched.

‘John’ Sherlock repeated, chanting his friends name as though it was the only word he knew _John, John, John_

‘Shhhh, you’re safe Sherlock’ John insisted holding up his index finger ‘here, put your finger on mine and breathe’

Sherlock nervously lifted his index finger to press against the callused finger on John’s hand, pushing their fingerprints together until they were merged and turning white from the strain.

‘See? It’s real. Its okay’ John soothed ‘It was only a nightmare’

Sherlock nodded his head slowly before blinking away the tears which spilt onto his cheeks to run down to the crease in his neck. Neither man spoke, neither had words to say; they sat silently listening to the bustle of the hospital ward and the noises from outside.

* * *

 

** Three days later: **

The monotonous days of hospital visitation and regular pain medication bled into one another as Sherlock managed to get by with limited sleep and Mrs H’s home-cooked goodies. John refused to leave his best friends side, only escaping the small room when he had to use the toilet or nip back to Baker Street for fresh supplies.

‘You can have a shower’ John smiled as he returned from the visitor’s toilet ‘I checked with the doctor. We can’t get your cast wet,’

Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded that he wanted a shower; his entire body felt grimy and filthy. Even at the worst of his drug use, he hadn’t smelt or felt this grubby. The detective noticed that John was hovering nervously, obviously wanted to raise a sensitive topic but unsure how to proceed.

‘Ask’ Sherlock demanded with a smirk ‘I can hear you thinking from here’

John blushed and shuffled his feet nervously, steeling himself for the discussion.

‘When… Can you remember the last time you went to the toilet?’ John cringed. As a doctor he wasn’t embarrassed about the disgusting bodily functions, he himself had removed objects from orifices and decompacted numerous patients but this was different… this was Sherlock.

‘Oh’ Sherlock laughed ‘I thought it was going to be something horrible’

The tension in the room was broken as John joined in with Sherlock’s laughter as the younger man tried to think back,

‘Not while I’ve been in hospital’ Sherlock realised, ‘I think… I had an accident in the warehouse’

‘That’s fine’ John added quickly to spare Sherlock explaining more. He still remembered the filth which surrounded the pale man chained to a railing; Mycroft and Lestrade had ensured that all officers present at the scene never _ever_ mentioned it _(regardless of how much of an arse Sherlock was being)_

‘I think it’s probably worth getting you some medication for it… the tears were quite –‘John paused and thought of the word ‘nasty’

Sherlock nodded and ran his hand through his curls ‘Any news from Mycroft?’

‘None’ John admitted, a shiver running up his spine at the thought of Mycroft’s current objective.

* * *

 

Mycroft stood in the secret facility beneath his office building; he fiddled carelessly with his ring which had been attached to his wedding finger for fifteen long years. A lie to keep his personal business personal. The platinum band swept over his skin with no hint of pull as he watched the _interrogator_ through the mirror;

‘I’ll only ask one more time Mr Balenko’ the young man in the perfectly pressed suit smiled politely ‘I do tire of hearing my own voice’

‘Go to hell’ the prisoner hissed, spitting a glob of blood and mucus onto the floor beneath his feet.

‘Oh my friend’ the younger man laughed ‘It’s not me who’ll be going there’

* * *

 

Mycroft poured himself a cup of tea as the screams reverberated around the soundproofed prison; his hands shook slightly but he put that down to lack of food or sleep for almost 72 hours. The Ukrainian was holding up better than Mycroft had expected, his pleas that he didn’t know what the interrogator was asking had become less frequent and had resulted in the man admitting he _might_ have been in the warehouse when Sherlock was brought in.

Mycroft knew that Mr Balenko knew a lot more than he was admitting; the CCTV from Baker Street showed him as one of the crew who had kidnapped his brother. Mycroft looked up and offered his co-worker a cup of tea as he walked through the door cleaning off his hands with a bloodied rag.

‘I think he’s warmed up enough to talk’ the interrogator smiled, ‘should I have everyone leave?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind Patrick’ Mycroft nodded ‘Except you, please write down anything he says for future reference’

Patrick nodded and took a seat at the desk; sipping his tea as he watched his boss enter the prisoners holding cell with an eerie grin.

* * *

 

‘You’ the Ukrainian gasped ‘You can’t keep me here’

Mycroft gave his usual sardonic grin whilst staring at the criminal in front of him ‘Ah you see, that’s where you are wrong. As an illegal immigrant in this country, you have no rights or safety. As far as the British government are concerned, you are not a member of our society, therefore, we do not know you exist… and unfortunately for you’ Mycroft grinned evilly ‘I am the British government’

Patrick winced at the screaming sounds echoing around the chamber as Mycroft slowly and methodically gained every scrap of information on his targets. The auburn haired man barely broke a sweat as he exited the room and cleaned his hands in the sink adjacent to the doorway,

‘Have the boys collect him’ he said to Patrick without looking up ‘standard procedure. Unmarked and undocumented please’

‘Yes sir’ Patrick nodded before leaving to arrange the hasty burial.

* * *

 

John didn’t want to be in this position; he didn’t want to be sitting outside the toilet door listening to his best friend sob his way through his first bowel movement since his torturous ordeal but Sherlock had insisted that John stay close by. Sherlock had taken in his mobile to play music in the hopes of relaxing him and drowning out his noise but the gesture had given the whole experience a surreal feel. The sounds of Sherlock’s cries being muffled by Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No14 made John feel like he was in a bizarre nightmare as he rested his head against his knees and desperately held in his own emotion.

 _I have to be strong for him_ his mind screamed,

The chain flushed and the sounds of the sink running brought John back to reality as he stood and steeled his face into one of everyday nonchalance. He picked up his book and hastily opened it to his marker, sitting in the closest chair and pretending he had been there the whole time as Sherlock opened the door, his eyes red and his face pale.

‘Okay?’ John asked without looking over,

‘Delightful’ Sherlock quipped before climbing back into bed and lying on his side away from John’s gaze.

‘The doctor said you could be home as early as next week’ John smiled ‘that’s good isn’t it?’

A non-committal grunt echoed through the room as Sherlock bit his lower lip to stop the sobs from escaping. He desperately wanted to go home, back to Baker Street and normality where he could shoot the walls and shout at Mrs Hudson for dusting, where he could sleep in his own bed. The thought of sleeping in the bed where he was taken from caused a shudder to run down his spine and more tears to fill his eyes. Blinking them away quickly he pulled the thin sheet up to his face and buried his eyes into the white fabric, feeling the moisture seep through as he sobbed in silence.

* * *

 

** 5 Days after the incident: **

‘Mr Holmes please, calm down’ the young Irish nurse soothed through the door of the private bathroom in Sherlock’s room.

The sounds of smashing and breaking rumbled through the sturdy door as the nurse called for security and sent for somebody to fetch John from his recent journey to the Hospital gift shop for more snacks. The Irish nurse continued trying to coax Sherlock into calming down, hearing the deep gasping sobs and the sound of glass breaking.

John was leaving the shop as a student nurse ran towards him with a pale and panicked look on her face; John turned into emergency doctor mode and grabbed her shoulders, calming her down and asking what had happened,

‘S-Sher’ She stammered before taking a deep breath ‘He’s gone mad’

John dropped his cup of coffee to the floor and took off at a sprint through the seemingly endless hospital corridors until he reached the ward which housed the detective. Rushing to the room he had vacated five minutes before he moved the Irish nurse to one side before speaking firmly through the door,

‘Sherlock. Sherlock, it’s me. Open the door’ John ordered,

‘John’ Sherlock gasped, followed by another crash ‘Just leave me, John’

John bit his tongue and lowered his tone to his Captain voice ‘Sherlock. Open this door right now or I’ll break it down’

There was a momentary silence before the click of the door opening ricocheted around the room, as loud as a gunshot. Sherlock opened the door slowly, his hair hanging down over a pale face as he stood to leave surrounded by broken glass, shattered mirror shards and his toiletries.

John gasped as he looked at the crimson pools of blood which dripped from the wounds on Sherlock’s hands and arms as he held them out, John was momentarily reminded of Frankenstein’s monster as Sherlock came lumbering towards him with outstretched arms and a shuffling gait,

‘Okay. Its okay’ John soothed carefully avoiding touching his best friend ‘we need to look at your wounds. Can I see?’

Sherlock nodded and moved to sit on the bed, leaving a trail of bloodied footprints as the nurses left to collect medical supplies and arrange for the bathroom to be sorted. John pulled his chair closer to the edge of Sherlock’s bed and looked over the wounds which covered Sherlock’s arms.

‘Why?’ John asked carefully, his voice soft and caring.

‘The mirror’ Sherlock whispered ‘I wasn’t there’

‘What do you mean you weren’t there?’ John asked confused, his brow crinkling with confusion.

‘Remember we discussed the lore on mirrors?’ Sherlock continued ‘Vampires and Demons have no reflection because…’

‘They have no souls’ John finished the sentence ‘I remember’

‘I had no reflection’ Sherlock startled nervously, his hands shaking as the nurses returned with gauze and stitches for the doctor. John had taken the medical kit and advised the nurses that he would deal with it, knowing his credentials the nurses nodded and left the two men alone.

‘Of course, you had a reflection’ John soothed,

‘It wasn’t me in the mirror’ Sherlock insisted ‘It wasn’t’

John could feel Sherlock beginning to hyperventilate, reminding him of their night in Baskerville when the detective had become emotional and scared. John wished he could go back to those days when the only troubles they had were drugged sugar and poison gas.

‘Sherlock’ John said firmly ‘Breathe for me, in with one, out with two’

John instructed Sherlock through the anxiety attack and cleaned up the wounds which didn’t need stitches. Wrapping his arms and feet in bandages and keeping his touch as clinical and careful as possible he helped Sherlock climb into bed and pulled the covers over him.

‘Stay with me?’ Sherlock mumbled his voice wavering with emotion as he looked at his best friend.

‘Wouldn’t dream of leaving’ John smiled softly putting his finger up for Sherlock to touch. Sherlock looked at his friend and moved to connect their little fingers together in an embrace widely known as a _pinkie promise._ John huffed out a snort and tightened his grip to squeeze Sherlock’s finger as the detective lay in silence, breathing in and out and retreating into his mind palace.

* * *

 

Mycroft exited his car and walked into Scotland Yard; his plastic smile fixed to his face as he walked through the countless minions of the police force until reaching Lestrade’s office where he rapped on the door with his umbrella handle and waited for Greg to call him through. The DI gruffly shouted to ‘ _come the fuck in, or fuck the fuck off_ ’ which caused Mycroft to huff out a laugh and lift his eyebrow as he entered the glass-walled office,

‘Such manners’ Mycroft smiled at Greg ‘Do they teach you that at the academy?’

Lestrade grimaced and apologised, offering Mycroft a seat and moving a large pile of folders and various paperwork onto the floor to sort later. Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes Lestrade looked at Mycroft and sighed,

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked tiredly,

‘When did you last sleep?’ Mycroft asked concerned.

‘What day is it?’ Greg laughed and grabbed his cup of very cold coffee.

‘It’s Wednesday’ Mycroft replied, his eyes now narrowing as he scanned over the DI’s features,

‘Oh,’ Greg muttered before promptly looking down at himself realising that he had been wearing the same clothes for almost five days.

‘Detective Inspector’ Mycroft started before being cut off by Lestrade insisting that he call him Greg.

‘Greg’ Mycroft mumbled, almost ashamed at the foreign feel of the name on his lips ‘Sherlock needs you healthy and rested. You can’t help if you’re dead’

‘I know’ Greg admitted scratching the salt and pepper threads of his hair ‘but I can’t sleep… whenever I do I see him’

‘Tied to the pole?’ Mycroft finished sadly ‘I know’

Both men looked away from one another for a moment before Greg spoke;

‘I’m guessing you didn’t come here to discuss my dreams’

‘No. I have information’ Mycroft admitted, pulling out the file from his briefcase and setting it in front of Greg ‘We’ve got them’


	3. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft flicked open his laptop and brought up the video which had been stored and encrypted especially for him; watching as Patrick the interrogator entered the room and sat opposite the man named Dmitry. Mycroft had been specifically banned from this interview knowing that he was one of the men who had raped his brother; his bosses (yes, even THE British Government had bosses) had insisted that he watched from afar as Patrick took the lead. Waves of anger rolled from Mycroft’s body as he looked over at the man sitting naturally, staring at Patrick with a smug grin.
> 
> ‘So, Dmitry’ Patrick began ‘I think we need to have a talk’
> 
> Mycroft didn’t stop the tape until an unconscious Dmitry was taken back to his cell until the next session began.

** Two weeks after the incident: **

Sherlock refused to sit in the wheelchair to be taken out of the hospital; the doctors argued and complained bitterly regarding their insurance and the hospital policy only to be given a scathing glare by Sherlock who threatened to have Mycroft shut down the entire building. John jumped in quickly to apologise and offer to accompany Sherlock out to ensure that nothing happened between the ward and the exit which was agreed by the consultant.

The detective grinned happily as John helped him pull on his Belstaff; they couldn’t get the sleeves to fit over Sherlock’s cast so left his arm out, wrapping the wool around Sherlock’s thin body. Lestrade had ensured that the media were kept out of the loop regarding Sherlock’s release date (and they were threatened with immediate _action_ if they ever released the true nature of his hospital stay. The story provided was Sherlock had fallen from a building chasing a criminal and had suffered chest and arm injuries resulting in his stay) which allowed Sherlock and John some privacy as they exited the hospital and climbed into the unmarked police car which was designated for taxi duty. Sherlock strolled excitedly out of the doors, taking a deep breathe of the London air and exhaling shakily as he climbed into the waiting car.

John followed and soon the pair were rushing through London traffic back to Baker Street and Mrs Hudson who had squealed with teenage frenzy when John had informed her they were coming home. Sherlock sat silently in the back seat, his eyes scanning the horizon as they travelled with only the sound of the police radio, cracking with static around them.

The car pulled up to a deserted Baker Street; John climbed out and grabbed Sherlock’s bags whilst the detective shakily pulled himself out of the car and onto the familiar pavement outside his house, looking up and inhaling deeply as John joined his side.

‘Ready?’ the doctor asked calmly,

Sherlock looked over at his friend and nodded a single nod before striding to the door and reaching for the handle. His stomach flipped as the door opened into the passageway, Sherlock’s mind immediately deduced the scene;

_Mycroft has been here, Lestrade too, Mrs Hudson has been staying with her sister this weekend and has recently been gifted a large bouquet of lilies which are her favourite._

John stood back slightly watching concerned as Sherlock’s eyes took in his surroundings before the detective began to move up the stairs; wincing with every step at the pain in his ribs. He reached the top and pushed open the door and breathed in the familiar scent of home, _Lavender fabric conditioner, smoke from the fire, a lingering aroma of tea._

‘You’re home!’ the excited voice shouted from the mantelpiece as Mrs Hudson turned with a huge grin, a small banner hanging over the mirror with ‘ **Welcome Home’** written on it.

Sherlock smiled warmly and allowed John to help him with his coat before walking over to Mrs Hudson and wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for a careful hug as not to push against his ribs. John looked on slightly disappointed that Sherlock felt so comfortable to cuddle and touch their landlady when the detective couldn’t be touched by his best friend. John shook the thought from his head immediately and put down the bags before walking to the kitchen to flick on the kettle.

John listened to Mrs Hudson fuss around Sherlock; the younger man settling awkwardly into his chair and trailing his fingers over the cold wood of his violin as he settled back into the comfortable surroundings, muting Mrs Hudson’s concern as she insisted she needed to feed the detective back up. John huffed a laugh and turned to see Sherlock’s eyes wide with overstimulation, his brain obviously attempting to catalogue every small change in the flat.

Using his softest and most gentle voice, John shooed Mrs Hudson to her own flat to allow Sherlock a moment’s peace and quiet to reflect on being home and safe. The two men sat opposite one another in comfortable silence as John sipped at his tea,

‘John?’ Sherlock spoke eventually,

‘Hmm?’ John replied, looking up and meeting Sherlock’s gaze ‘Alright?’

‘I know you’re upset that I can’t accept comfort from you’ Sherlock whispered, his eyes filling with unshed tears as he looked away at the fireplace ‘Mrs Hudson is – well – she’s’

‘A woman’ John finished with a soft and endearing smile ‘I understand’

‘I know you would never hurt me. Ever’ Sherlock continued without looking at his friend ‘but I just… can’t’

‘You don’t need to explain yourself’ John soothed ‘now, enough of this. What do you want from the Chinese?’

* * *

 

John placed the order as Sherlock showered in the comfort of his own bathroom. He grumbled playfully when John insisted he wrapped his cast in plastic bags but left the detective to his own devices whilst John pottered around the flat; putting in the washing and washing the mugs. He whistled softly as he shuffled, he stopped as he heard a soft gasp and then cursing from the direction of the bathroom,

‘Everything alright?’ he shouted from the living room into the bathroom where the water still ran.

‘I may have got shampoo in my eyes’ Sherlock shouted back ‘Could you possibly hand me a towel?’

John chuckled slightly under his breath and walked towards the bathroom, knocking out of habit before entering the steamy room. Sherlock was hidden behind the shower curtain as John walked into the clouds of heat to pick up the towel which Sherlock normally designated for his hair, holding it out at arm’s length he handed it to his friend who grasped for it and thanked the doctor with a cheery smile.

John bit his lip to stifle the sound of shock; He had seen Sherlock naked dozens of times, helped the younger man clean himself up after various chases around London and witnessed the lanky git (sans pants) in the palace but he had never seen Sherlock’s body look like this. The once pale and creamy skin was mottled with purple and black bruises which covered the entire front and side of Sherlock’s chest and ribs. The pink shiny new skin beneath the many lacerations shone in the bright bathroom light,

‘John?’ Sherlock asked, turning his body towards his first totally unashamed of his nudity in front of his best friend. The towel still clamped to his still slightly bruised eyes ‘Are you still there?’

John cleared his throat and squeaked a ‘yes’ before his eyes focussed on another wound, one he hadn’t seen in the hospital and wasn’t aware that Sherlock had. His eyes lingered on the pale flesh of Sherlock’s arse, the flawless skin marred with a red and angry mark which could only be one thing,

A bite mark,

John clenched his fists tightly, his teeth pressing against each other as he stared at the mark. He could see the ridges perfectly, the outline of the beast's jaw marked into Sherlock like a brand, a sinister tattoo of evil. John blinked away tears and turned towards the door as he heard the doorbell ring with the arrival of their food,

‘John?’ Sherlock whispered, his eyes now clear of suds ‘Thank you’

John could only nod as he left the room, desperately hoping that Mycroft had leads.

* * *

 

Mycroft had been working hard to find the criminals responsible for hurting his baby brother; regardless of their childish bickering, both men loved one another immensely ( _not that either would admit it of course)._ Mycroft sat behind his desk staring into space as he walked around the palatial gardens of his mind palace,

His garden had always been dedicated to Sherlock; young Sherlock that is, the Sherlock who was completely obsessed with bees and pirates. His favourite memories always included Sherlock as an inquisitive 6 year old, brown curls and huge eyes running around with Redbeard to collect worms or tadpoles regardless of his mother’s warnings not to bring them into the house ( _There had been a slight issue with a plague of frogs which had spawned from the tadpoles kept unnoticed in the sink in Sherlock’s en-suite_ ). He and Mycroft would sit beneath the shade of the huge oak tree and read; Sherlock was thirsty for knowledge and adored stories of adventures and detective novels which amused Mycroft. Sherlock would sit in the V of Mycroft’s legs and rest his head against his big brother's chest whilst Mycroft read Moby Dick or The Odyssey.

Mycroft wandered his gardens and looked over at the memory of him and Sherlock under the oak, Sherlock had fallen asleep and was lightly drooling onto Mycroft’s shirt as Mycroft stroked the brown curls and whispered softly into his beloved brother’s ear.

‘Sir?’

The sound of Anthea entering the room pulled him from his memory and caused him to snap his head around before smiling and bidding her enter. Anthea approached with a tray of tea and a sandwich; her gaze broaching no-nonsense argument with her boss that he was _going_ to eat whether she fed him or not. Mycroft smiled at his assistant and rolled his eyes as she gave her best hard glare before leaving the room as Mycroft put the sandwich to his lips and took a bite of the first food to pass his lips in almost 48 hours.

He remembered what DI Lestrade had said about the dreams; he too was having them but not only when he was asleep. Whenever Mycroft had a spare moment to think, his mind traitorously wandered to Sherlock’s broken body chained to the post, the smell of excrement and _other_ bodily products hanging in the air as his brother sobbed and cried out at the smallest touch from his best friend and confident.

The politician had been unsure on Captain John Watson at first; the nerves which normally arose from Sherlock making _friends_ was usually for a good reason but John had been good for Sherlock, the detective had begun to understand how to act in public thanks to John’s good influence. They obviously doted on one another in a completely platonic relationship, more like a marriage than a friendship. Mycroft had seen Sherlock’s genuine smile more since meeting John than in the previous ten years.

Mycroft flicked open his laptop and brought up the video which had been stored and encrypted especially for him; watching as Patrick the interrogator entered the room and sat opposite the man named Dmitry. Mycroft had been specifically banned from this interview knowing that he was one of the men who had raped his brother; his bosses ( _yes, even THE British Government had bosses)_ had insisted that he watched from afar as Patrick took the lead. Waves of anger rolled from Mycroft’s body as he looked over at the man sitting naturally, staring at Patrick with a smug grin.

‘So, Dmitry’ Patrick began ‘I think we need to have a talk’

Mycroft didn’t stop the tape until an unconscious Dmitry was taken back to his cell until the next session began.

* * *

 

The hot and delicious Chinese food had been eaten quickly; devoured by both hungry men who retired into the living room together. John ensured that Sherlock had taken his medication before they settled down to watch television; Sherlock took the sofa and sprawled himself out over the entire suite whilst John sat in his chair.

The men sat in silence watching a documentary on the Tudor monarchy; John wasn’t particularly interested in the programme but the colourful dresses and high corseted breasts certainly didn’t make him want to turn off. Sherlock shuffled awkwardly from his position on the sofa as he attempted to find a comfortable position in which to settle,

‘Do you remember what happened to Katherine Howard? The fifth wife of Henry?’ Sherlock asked nonchalantly without looking up,

‘Erm… Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced – so she must have been beheaded’ John answered,

‘For adultery like her cousin Anne Boleyn,’ Sherlock continued ‘Except she actually did commit the crime unlike Anne’s false accusation of treason and incest’

‘How do you remember this?’ John laughed ‘You don’t remember the solar system but you remember information on long-dead kings and queens?’

‘It’s interesting’ Sherlock shrugged ‘Everyone loves a good beheading’

John chuckled and settled himself back into the chair, pulling his leg under him as he turned to look at Sherlock wondering what the point in the conversation was;

‘Katherine Howard was raised in her step-grandmothers house along with other girls of noble birth. They got away with a lot of rather lewd behaviour and it’s said that her first lover was her music teacher when she was around 11 years old’ Sherlock said dispassionately ‘Then she promised herself to a man who later became her secretary. He drank a lot at court and ran his mouth which raised suspicion. It was found that she was having an extramarital affair behind the kings back with her cousin, his favourite courtier Thomas Culpepper’

‘A young bloomer and a risk taker’ John huffed ‘she sounds delightful’

‘Please John’ Sherlock rolled his eyes ‘People often didn’t live until their 50’s in those days so it wasn’t that early’

‘Is there a point to this history lesson?’ John asked with a smile,

Sherlock looked away and stared at the colourful picture on the TV set as he spoke ‘It’s said that when she was noticed by the king, he fell madly in love with her and called her his _rose without a thorn._ He assumed she was virginal and modest. She was 14 when they married and she already had a great deal of practice with men and sex’

John startled at the word leaving Sherlock’s lips; they had never discussed sex outside of a case or John’s dates before.

‘Apparently, on the night of the consummation, Katherine sent a trusted handmaiden into the market to buy a pessary of fish blood which she inserted inside her. Once she had consummated her marriage with the king, he was happy to find a red stain blooming on the sheet to show her maidenhead’ Sherlock said, his voice going low and deep as he spoke.

‘Resourceful’ John admitted with a shrug,

‘I wonder, did the king know it wasn’t her first time or did he convince himself that she was innocent?’ Sherlock asked quizzically.

‘I don’t… Sherlock are you alright?’ John asked nervously, looking over at his best friend who still refused to meet his gaze.

‘Hmm – what? Oh yes. Fine’ Sherlock plastered on a fake smile ‘never mind. Getting a little overtired I think’

‘Oookay’ John drawled ‘do you – do you want to go to bed then? It’s only 10 but I think we could probably do with an early night’

Sherlock nodded and began to move towards the kitchen; taking the cold tea mugs back and placing them in the sink. John stood and stretched listening to his joints click as he moved; John stopped at the stairs and looked at Sherlock who stood nervously in the doorway to his bedroom, worrying his bottom lip.

‘Want me to stay down?’ John asked

‘No. No, I’m fine’ Sherlock insisted ‘going to use the bathroom first. Think the laxatives are finally taking effect’

‘Oh’ John nodded ‘Well, if you need me, just shout or text’

‘Pretty sure I can manage this bit alone thank you’ Sherlock smiled gently as he looked behind at John ‘Goodnight’

‘Night’ John smiled back before retreating up the stairs to the comfort of his own bed.

* * *

 

John’s dream was very strange.

The doctor dreamt that he was in King Henry’s court and the king had turned his attention to Sherlock as his next future wife. The king showered Sherlock with jewels and expensive furs, horses and land whilst the brunette ran from the advances. John stood stock still as the dream rushed forward until he was standing in St Pauls Cathedral watching Sherlock marry Bluff King Hal and becoming Queen of England before being taken back to Hampton Court to consummate the marriage. John stood at the end of the bed as Sherlock was tucked into bed in a long white shift, his nervous energy thrumming around the room as Henry entered and looked down at his new bride.

‘You are no maid’ Henry spat looking at Sherlock disdainfully,

‘S-S-Sire’ Sherlock stammered, his eyes wide and huge with terror ‘through no fault of my own’

Henry was in no mood to be placated and shouted for his courtier to bring his sword. John rushed forward to rescue Sherlock, finding that he was invisible to the others in the room as the courtier entered the bedchamber with a huge grin; chewing on chewing gum and wearing an expensive Armani suit, his hair greased back from his forehead as Moriarty handed the king his sword and giggled when Henry pulled back his arm and swung the sword in an arc. Sherlock looked straight at John with pleading eyes as they made eye contact,

His head was taken from his body in one swift movement and John watched in horror as Sherlock’s lips continued to mouth the word _John_ over and over again.

John awoke in a cold sweat; his eyelids blinking as sweat dripped into his eyes and stung. He pulled back the covers and took a deep and steady breath trying to calm himself as he processed the strange dream,

_Sherlock was trying to explain using Katherine Howard as an example. He had been a virgin up until his attack._

John felt sick and gasped out a few more breaths as he desperately fought down nausea rising from his stomach. Rising from the bed on shaky legs he checked the time on his alarm clock and realised it was past 3 am, he wrapped his dressing gown around himself and walked down the stairs into the kitchen to fill the kettle for a cup of tea. He stopped at the living room as he saw Sherlock lying awake on the sofa, his fingers steepled to his lips.

‘Did you even try to go to bed?’ John asked patiently,

‘Tried. Couldn’t’ Sherlock replied without moving,

John made them both a cup of tea and set Sherlock’s down close enough for the detective to grasp before sitting in his chair. He sipped in silence until the baritone rumble of Sherlock’s voice started again;

‘Bad dream?’ he asked,

‘Could say that’ John admitted, blowing the steam from the cup.

‘The war?’ Sherlock asked, ‘or the roof?’

‘Neither’ John shrugged ‘You were getting your head cut off by Henry Tudor after Moriarty gave him a sword’

‘Oh’ Sherlock sniggered ‘So, new dream then’

‘I blame you. You said everyone loved a beheading – I just don’t like them at 3 am’ John smiled

‘So why was I being beheaded?’ Sherlock asked ‘and please don’t say incest’

John chuckled loudly at that and sloshed a bit of his tea over his front as he attempted to hold the cup straight.

‘You – You married the king and didn’t tell him you weren’t a virgin’ John whispered, watching Sherlock tense.

‘Oh’ was the only answer from across the room.

‘You weren’t… a virgin… before… were you?’ John stammered nervously.

‘Does it matter?’ Sherlock asked,

‘I just – It doesn’t mean you aren’t now’ John tried to soothe ‘You didn’t give up your virginity; it was taken away from you without your consent. It’s supposed to be an intimate and caring gesture and what you went through wasn’t’

‘I was penetrated. Numerous times’ Sherlock clarified ‘I rather think that I’ve been deflowered’

‘Not if you don’t want to be’ John said firmly ‘They don’t get to take that away from you Sherlock. You didn’t give consent’

‘I had an orgasm’ Sherlock whispered ashamedly ‘they made me eat it’

John’s gasp seemed to echo around the room as he put down his mug before he scorched his skin any further. His brain processed every syllable of Sherlock’s response before he spoke softly,

‘That doesn’t mean anything. That was your body reacting. It wasn’t pleasure it was just—‘John stumbled over his words ‘biology’

Sherlock stayed silent and still for a long moment before responding ‘You mean I didn’t- it wasn’t my body being treacherous?’ His voice was low and uncertain, his tone almost a whimper as he spoke to John in the darkness of the early morning.

‘Absolutely not. Neither you nor your body did anything wrong’ John insisted harshly ‘none of it was your fault’

Sherlock nodded silently before exhaling shakily ‘Would – would you stay here with me?’

‘Of course’ John added, slouching into a more comfortable position ‘I’ll stay here as long as you need’


	4. The Comfort

Sherlock dreaded the nights; long, boring hours of nothingness stretching on endlessly with nothing but memories and flashbacks to fill his mind. Previously, he could find distraction in scientific experiments or deducing passers-by from Baker Street’s windows however with the unwieldy cast on his wrist and his aching ribs he found he couldn’t stand for long periods of time or concentrate enough. He tried sitting only to wince at the ache in his bum from the still healing tears and bruising. The detective was fed up.

He walked into his bedroom avoiding the bed where his ordeal began in order to pick out fresh underwear before promptly leaving and closing the door behind him, exhaling shakily as he changed in the bathroom and laid back down on the sofa with his eyes closed feeling the soft embrace of sleep wash over him.

_The blackness enveloped him as he desperately tried to claw off the hood from his face; his breathing coming short and frantic as he struggled with his bindings which had suddenly wrapped themselves around his wrists pulling him down, down, down._

‘Sherlock, for fuck's sake stop it’ John hissed through clenched teeth; his hands holding Sherlock’s fingers away from the detectives face where he had tried to claw at his own skin. John’s heart was beating fast as he desperately tried to wake Sherlock from his nightmare,

‘Please wake up’ he whispered to the whimpering man below ‘please’

Sherlock’s eyes flickered open and met John’s own starry blue pupils; tears flooded the younger man’s features as he gasped for air and jerked his hands away from John’s tight grip.

‘Sorry’ John whispered, placing his hands on his lap as he looked at Sherlock’s face ‘You were scratching’

‘Oh’ Sherlock mumbled as he looked away ‘okay’

‘This is all my fault’ John whispered to Sherlock as he looked down at his broken best friend.

Sherlock scowled and furrowed his eyebrows ‘How?’

‘I didn’t lock the door, you told me to lock the door and I didn’t and you were taken’ John sniffled sadly,

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared at his best friend, reading the doctor’s face before sighing ‘John, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t blame yourself for this’

‘It’s my fault though’ John insisted angrily ‘I was in such a fucking sulk that I completely forgot about basic safety and security. I was so bothered about getting a shag that I put you at risk and got you hurt’

Sherlock inhaled shakily before shaking his head ‘John, even if you had locked the door, put a 3-inch chain around it and filled the hallway with guard dogs they would have found a way to get me. They were determined to see me suffer and unfortunately yes, the door gave them an easier entrance but they would have found a way regardless. I don’t blame you and you shouldn’t blame yourself’

John snuffed back the tears and nodded; the guilt would always stay with him, he had left the door open for Sherlock to suffer but knowing Sherlock didn’t blame him made the guilt more bearable.

* * *

 

Sherlock lay in the bath naked and unashamed as John sat on the cold floor of the bathroom with his back against the wall; Sherlock had asked for John’s company as he bathed and John found he couldn’t refuse Sherlock anything when the detective said please.

‘You don’t sleep in your bed’ John said without judgement.

‘No’ Sherlock confirmed,

‘Okay. Well, sleeping on the sofa isn’t doing your wounds and bruises any good. You can’t be getting much sleep either’ John continued softly ‘So why don’t we do a swap?’

‘A swap?’ Sherlock said quizzically,

‘You sleep in my bed, I’ll sleep in yours’ John shrugged ‘I don’t mind and you might finally get some rest’

Sherlock stayed silent for a stretched moment before nodding once ‘Okay’

John smiled and suggested he go change the sheets, leaving the younger man to bathe in peace as John whistled jauntily pulling out fresh bedding from the airing cupboard. Sherlock chuckled to himself as he listened to John whistle the guitar solo to Free bird as he changed the sheets, in Sherlock’s mind’s eye he could see the doctor wiggling his bum and strutting around the bedroom as he stripped his mattress. Sherlock deduced that John would have the brown covers on when he reached the bedroom, they were the most recently laundered and higher quality than the ones he could normally buy for himself ( _he only used the bedding because Sherlock insisted that he had stolen too many from Mycroft)._ The detective rinsed himself off, careful of his cast before standing and climbing from the tub and wrapping the towel around his waist; he brushed his teeth and combed his hair before dressing in his pyjamas and pulling on his camel coloured dressing gown. Padding barefoot to John’s room, Sherlock stood in the doorway as he watched John carry the armful of material to his washing basket and then turn to smile.

‘Your new bed’ John grinned ‘Do you want to sleep now?’

‘Could – would you stay with me?’ Sherlock asked nervously, hating himself for becoming needy and dependant on his best friend.

‘Of course’ John smiled

The bed wasn’t ideal for two men to share; it was a much, much smaller fit than Sherlock had expected and he felt his stomach turn to water as he felt John lie on his side next to him. John didn’t seem to notice as he chattered mindlessly about Mike’s new car and Molly’s date with a funeral director. The doctor wasn’t aware of the change in Sherlock’s breathing, the tremors in his hands and the thin sheen of sweat which covered his forehead and chest. Sherlock panicked as he felt his lips and fingers go numb, the tingling sensation unpleasant and worrying which caused his breathing to hitch again, dragging him deeper and deeper into his panic attack,

‘Whoa’ John whispered ‘Sherlock breathe’

‘C-Can’t’ Sherlock wheezed ‘H-help’

John leapt into action and ran downstairs to rummage through the drawers until he found what he was looking for; running back upstairs with the paper bag he sat at the end of the bed and handed it to Sherlock to immediately fixed it over his mouth and attempted to control his breathing and calm his heartbeat. His vision was going fuzzy and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears as his lips and nose tingled as John soothed him with words of calm.

‘Too-small’ Sherlock said between pained breaths ‘Too-much’

‘Right… right, okay,’ John whispered as he looked around the room and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. An idea popped into his head and John rushed to the airing cupboard to grab the spare duvet and pillows, making himself a cot beside the bed on the floor.

‘J-John, Your S-shoulder’ Sherlock insisted only be to shooed away from his best friend,

‘It’s only for a while; until I know you’ve slept’ John insisted ‘lay down’

Sherlock capitulated and laid flat on John’s bed; the smell of John engulfed his senses as he was cocooned in the aroma of home and love. John shuffled into his makeshift bed and got as comfortable as possible whilst listening to Sherlock get himself comfortable.

‘Better?’ John asked, startling Sherlock from his thoughts. The detective answered with a simple ‘uh-ha’ and the room lapsed into quiet, only the sounds of the London night surrounding them. Sherlock reached for the lamp and turned off the light, leaving the two men in darkness,

‘Tell me something I don’t know’ Sherlock whispered into the inky blackness.

‘You know everything’ John chuckled from below,

‘No. About you. Something I couldn’t possibly know’ Sherlock insisted,

‘Oh er,’ John thought for a moment before grinning ‘When I was 5, my parents saved up and bought me a shiny tricycle. It was brilliant, bright red and silver with a little bell and streamers on the handles. I spent hours peddling up and down our driveway whilst Harry had tea parties on the lawn with her friends’

Sherlock smiled as he imagined a chubby John with grazed knees peddling his beloved tricycle up and down. His blonde hair shining in the sunshine as he giggled and frolicked without a care,

‘My mum said I could visit my granny on my trike as she only lived a few streets away; I felt so grown up’ John smiled and sighed ‘Harry was with me and we set off but before we got there, a bigger boy told me he wanted my tricycle and threatened us. Harry rushed off to tell mum and left me there, this kid was about 7 or 8 and seemed giant to me as I’ve always been a short arse’

Sherlock snorted a laugh as he listened with a sense of uneasiness in his stomach at the outcome of the story,

‘When mum and Harry got back to where Harry left me, they found the boy sitting on the kerb with a bloody nose, crying his eyes out. I’d hit him and peddled off. I was sitting at my nannas drinking lemonade when they turned up’ John chuckled to himself.

‘Beating up baddies from an early age’ Sherlock smiled into the darkness ‘Goodnight John’

‘Night Sherlock’ John whispered from below, listening to Sherlock’s steady breathing until he fell asleep.

* * *

 

John woke after a few hours; his shoulder screamed in agony from the hard surface beneath him and his whole body ached. Sitting up, he stretched himself as best he could before pulling himself to stand and look down at the sleeping detective snuggled in a nest of John’s covers. The brown curls peeked from the duvet along with a small portion of Sherlock’s pale skin, sleep slack and more relaxed than John had seen since before the incident. The doctor shuffled awkwardly down to the kitchen where he clicked on the kettle and made himself a cup of strong tea before settling in his chair and watching the news. He sat in enjoyable silence until he heard Sherlock’s footsteps enter the living room,

‘Morning’ Sherlock croaked his voice sleepy and gruff.

‘Afternoon you mean’ John joked ‘looks like you finally got caught up’

Sherlock checked the clock and raised his eyebrows that he had slept for over 14 hours without a nightmare or interruption. He threw himself into his chair and looked over at John with a scowl,

‘You’re in pain’

‘I’m fine’ John insisted,

‘Your shoulder, from the floor’ Sherlock continued,

‘I’m fine’ John hissed tensely before rolling his shoulders and unclenching his fists ‘It’s fine’

‘Right’ Sherlock nodded before adding ‘I was thinking I might call Lestrade, see what cases he has’

‘Sherlock’ John frowned ‘You’re still recovering. We can’t go running around London, especially not with you still looking like a human Panda hybrid’ the doctor gestured to Sherlock’s still black bruised eyes which had slowly started to disappear.

Sherlock huffed out a disgruntled sigh ‘But John’

‘No buts, plus, I don’t think Lestrade is working on anything except…’ he stopped himself before he added _your case_

‘My case’ Sherlock finished, making John wonder ( _not for the first time)_ whether Sherlock could read minds.

‘Exactly’ John grimaced,

‘I could help’ Sherlock insisted hopefully ‘who better to have on the team than the victim?’

‘No. Absolutely not. Never going to happen’ John hissed angrily ‘No Sherlock. Besides, I have an idea for our bed issue’

* * *

 

Mrs Hudson heard the scraping sounds of moving furniture shortly followed by the curses of an ex-army captain swearing at the inanimate objects ( _or Sherlock, she wasn’t sure)_ but whatever John was calling a ‘massive twatty bastard’ was obviously in his way. Mrs H smiled as she picked up her most recent baking goodies and took them upstairs to the flat,

‘Sherlock, seriously. If you don’t help, I’m going to phone Mycroft and tell him you claimed he wears women’s pants’ John threatened as he attempted to move a wardrobe by himself using his one good arm.

‘How do you know he doesn’t?’ Sherlock grinned before dramatically retching ‘god, what a thought’

Neither men could control their giggles and soon were howling with laughter, neither hearing the ‘woohoo’ from Mrs H entering the flat.

‘What on earth are you boys doing?’ the landlady asked with a smile,

‘Laughing at Mycroft’s knickers’ Sherlock added wiping away a tear from his eye as he watched Mrs Hudson blush and tut,

‘You boys. At my age’ she laughed to herself walking through to the kitchen and placing the plate of chocolate brownies onto the counter before returning to the doorway and looking into Sherlock’s bedroom.

The duo had begun to move Sherlock’s furniture around in his bedroom; changing the positions around from their usual places. Sherlock’s bed which had once been against the wall near the door was now in the furthest away corner near the window. The wardrobes were in the middle of the floor waiting to be pushed back to the wall where Sherlock stood resting his weight against the solid wood and watching John valiantly attempt to move his chest of drawers,

‘Sherlock seriously, I can’t do this by myself’ John insisted, sweat pouring down his face and back.

Sherlock pouted and pointed to himself ‘Look at me John; I’m not built for manual labour’

‘And I’m a lover, not a fighter’ John rolled his eyes ‘but we started so we might as well finish’

‘But… my ribs and wrist’ Sherlock insisted with a grimace, admitting that he was in pain.

‘Fine’ John answered grabbing his phone ‘but I’m not doing it alone’

* * *

 

Lestrade had finally managed to sleep for more than an hour at a time; laying in his bed he absently stroked his tummy as his mind catalogued each new piece of Sherlock’s case. Mycroft had handed him the folder giving them names, addresses and history of many of the thugs but so far, the Yard or Mycroft’s minions had been unable to find them. He was startled out of his daydream by his phone vibrating on the bedside table; lifting the phone to his eye line he saw a text from John;

**Alright mate, don’t suppose you fancy popping over for a beer and some heavy lifting? – JW**

Greg smiled and composed a reply back to John simply saying

**10 mins – GL**

Pulling on his jeans and a jumper he rooted around the dresser for some workable socks before adding shoes and his coat. He was out of the house in less than 3 minutes and driving to Baker Street. Lestrade pulled up and parked on the double yellow lines, putting his police badge on the dashboard he walked to the door and walked through. He climbed the stairs and met Mrs Hudson on the landing, pressing a kiss to her cheek the pair chatted lovingly for a few moments before the sound of crashing and swearing got louder and Mrs H winced, gesturing that Greg should go through.

‘Bollocking shitbags!’ John shouted at the top of his lungs as he sucked on his thumb which had been trapped between the wooden doors of Sherlock’s wardrobe. He glared at the wardrobe, seriously considering smashing it to bits and burning it until he heard Greg clear his throat in the doorway.

‘Good to see you’re managing your stress’ the DI grinned as he toed off his shoes and walked into Sherlock’s room.

‘It was his idea’ Sherlock shrugged from the window where he was staring out over London.

‘Shut up’ John hissed ‘Greg, can you help me please?’

‘Sure thing’ Greg smiled ‘but I think I was promised beer’


	5. The Comfort Part 2

With Greg’s help, the bedroom was soon arranged in a workable order in no time; Sherlock pottered around moving his belongings whilst John and Lestrade moved to the living room to start a second beer. The two men chatted comfortably about Rugby and work until Lestrade looked around John to check Sherlock wasn’t spying.

‘We have some information’ The DI said quietly,

John lifted the bottle to his lips and nodded; moving closer, ensuring he could hear as Greg explained about the files which Mycroft had brought to him. John clenched his fists as Lestrade told him that they knew all of the criminal’s names and histories but hadn’t been able to find them after they had seemingly gone underground.

‘Although’ Greg started before checking for Sherlock ‘there were two names on the list that had been scribbled out. One I didn’t recognise but the second’ he paused.

‘The second?’ John queried,

Greg sighed and ran a hand over his hair ‘When I interviewed Sherlock in the hospital and he was talking about his- _assault_ ’ the DI looked away from John, fiddling with the label on his bottle ‘he mentioned that one of the men who… abused him was called Dmitry’

‘Okay,’ John nodded, ‘and?’

‘Dmitry’s name was on the list and then scribbled off. We tried to find out any information but nobody has seen or heard from him for a while, a confidential informant told me personally that he saw Dmitry being taken by a sleek black car’ Greg finished with a sigh,

‘You don’t think Mycroft…’ John trailed off,

‘Would you be surprised?’ Lestrade whispered

‘Not at all’ John admitted with a grimace ‘when Sherlock was in the hospital, me and Mycroft sat in his room and he said ‘ _not a fucking person on this earth will come between me, them and the most painful and excruciating death’_

‘Mycroft swore?’ Greg smirked ‘I didn’t know the Holmes brothers could’

‘He’d just rescued his baby brother; he was shocked and angry’ John shrugged ‘another beer?’

‘Better not. I’m driving’ Greg frowned ‘I’ll send the folders over. Going to try and do it as off the books as I can’

John stared at his friend in shock; Lestrade could lose his job for this, could go to prison or worse but he was willing to lose it all for Sherlock and vengeance.

‘Thanks’ John nodded, his stomach already fluttering with sick excitement.

* * *

 

Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed listening to his best friends talk in the living room; from what he could hear, Mycroft had abducted the rapist named Dmitry from the street and now had him hidden away in one of his personal dungeons. Sherlock’s stomach knotted as he momentarily panicked that the thugs would come back for him, that John would go out to do the shopping and whilst he was gone the men would come back. His heart fluttered wildly and tears brimmed in his eyes as he attempted to calm his breathing; he heard Lestrade shout goodbye before leaving the flat shortly followed by John running the shower and climbing under the hot spray, a soft sigh penetrating the walls between bedroom and bathroom.

The sounds were louder now with the new positioning of his bed; his headboard rested against the shared wall where the shower hung which meant that the soft humming of John in the shower was much more distinct than he had previously heard. Sherlock lay back on his bed and listened; he wasn’t actively listening to John shower ( _a bit not good – his brain reminded him)_ but the new sounds and shadows needed to be catalogued in his updated mind palace. His ears strained to hear beyond the _tap tap tap_ of the water,

_A moan_

At first, Sherlock assumed it was just the sigh of hot water hitting tired muscles; of John relaxing and stretching the sore and broken shoulder which had pained him throughout the day until another followed, and another. Tiny pants and gasps could be heard over the running water and immediately lodged themselves deep into Sherlock’s abdomen; the detective shuddered as he felt the first stirrings of an erection, his first since the incident.

Sherlock attempted to distract himself; to stand up and rush from the room and put on every noise making device in the flat to drown out the soft contented noises of John pleasuring himself through inches of wall but his traitorous body wouldn’t follow instruction. He sat frozen on his bed, his cock pressing against the fabric of his pyjama bottoms.

John’s moans had increased in volume and regularity; soft moans followed by harsher grunts echoed around the bathroom and through the partition wall. Sherlock wiggled uncomfortably, his penis was beginning to ache and create a wet spot on the fabric. A soft whimper escaped his lips as he nervously pushed his palm against the bulge, nausea ripped through him at the pleasurable sensations which pulsed through his groin and up his spine. Sherlock crushed his eyes together until it hurt and sparkles bloomed in the darkness;

 _No, no, no no_ his brain chanted _I won’t… I can’t… god no._

The deep growl which came from John’s orgasmic release was enough to push Sherlock over his own edge; coating his pyjamas with 3 weeks’ worth of sticky ejaculate, John’s satisfied hum as he washed himself drowned out the whimpers and cries of Sherlock who pulled his legs up to his chest and rocked back and forth, the ache in his ribs drowning out the pleasurable afterglow of his orgasm. John turned off the shower and Sherlock heard him step from the tub before silence swallowed up the flat as John towel dried himself.

‘Hey Sherlock, do you have any of that nice deodorant left? I can’t find mi-’ John silenced himself as he walked through the doorway of Sherlock’s bedroom and noticed the crying man rocking himself on the bed, ‘What’s wrong?’

Sherlock shook his head and ignored the doctor,

The smell of ejaculate hung in the air as John moved closer to the bed, his hands outstretched as though he was approaching a skittish animal. Sherlock watched with tearful eyes as John moved to sit beside him but leaving enough space to settle Sherlock’s nerves,

‘It’s okay’ John soothed.

‘It’s not. It’s dirty’ Sherlock whispered tearfully, ‘I’m dirty’

John smiled and shook his head grabbing at the box of tissues beside the bed and handing them to the detective ‘If I had a penny every time I came in my pants’

‘As a youth. Not as a 36-year-old man’ Sherlock whispered bashfully ‘and over the sounds of your best friend…’ he trailed off

John blushed and looked away nervously before clearing his throat. ‘Simple biology’ John soothed ‘that’s all’

‘I hate the way I am’ Sherlock admitted with a sob ‘I hate that I can’t stop crying, I hate that I need to rely on you to keep me breathing correctly and I hate that I can’t focus my mind long enough on simple tasks without returning to _that_ place’

‘It’s going to take time Sherlock’ John said softly, his pinkie finger entwining itself with Sherlock’s own ‘You are the bravest, smartest and most amazing man I’ve ever met and if anybody can survive this trauma it’s you. Don’t worry about having to rely on me, I’m here for you regardless’

Sherlock sniffled and blew his nose with the tissue before clearing his throat ‘Okay’

‘Okay’ John nodded in agreement ‘now, as much as I enjoy our chats, I need to put on some undies’

Sherlock chuckled and nodded waiting for John to leave the room before he stood and walked to the bathroom, peeling off his soiled pyjamas and throwing them into the washing.

* * *

 

John locked himself into his bedroom and rested his back against the door; his head low on his chest as he breathed deeply. He hadn’t even considered that Sherlock may have heard his stress reliever in the shower; his stomach felt heavy with guilt as he imagined how terrible it must have been for Sherlock to hear John’s groans of pleasure after his own ordeal. The need to masturbate had felt urgent as he was stood under the shower spray, running his hands over his body he had felt himself react to the familiar sensations and soon realised that he was sporting an impressive erection after two weeks of self-enforced celibacy. His hands had wrapped around his shaft before he was aware; soft moans escaping his lips without his knowledge as he tugged on the loose skin and felt the first prickles of arousal thrumming through his body.

John had tried desperately not to think of Sherlock sexually; for months before the ordeal, he had been having unusually graphic and vivid erotic thoughts about his flatmate and best friend. Sherlock’s beautiful face looking up from its position between John’s legs, his usually wicked and rude tongue lolling out as John wanked over him, beads of precum dripping onto the warm wet muscle which Sherlock accepted with a deep moan. John shook the thought away and tried to remember any of his previous conquests; there was Emma with her pretty brown eyes and coy smile who was devilishly good at dirty talk. He focussed on her body trying to remember each detail but finding that she soon merged into Sherlock, Sherlock spread out on the bed, Sherlock against a wall, Sherlock bending John over the sofa, cock buried deep inside the doctor’s arse.

It was that thought which sent him over the precipice and had him spilling thick strands of cum over the tiles and bathtub with a deep growl as his legs shook with the intense pleasure. Stroking the remaining drops from his cock he took a deep gasp of breath and steadied himself. _I’m definitely going to hell_ he told himself as he washed and stepped from the tub, quickly drying himself.

Sherlock had just suffered a horrendous trauma; John should not be thinking of him in any sexual way, at all. Not after the ordeal that Sherlock had endured but John couldn’t help it. The older man’s body seemed to want Sherlock above all others regardless of his mind’s insistence of heterosexuality or morals.

John moved away from the bedroom door and pulled on some fresh pyjamas before walking back downstairs to make dinner and a fresh pot of tea whilst waiting for Lestrade’s files to arrive.

* * *

 

John hadn’t expected Mycroft to bring the folders to the flat personally; the familiar tap tap of Mycroft’s umbrella against the stairs was enough to have Sherlock frowning and looking towards the door awaiting his brother’s arrival.

‘Brother Mine’ Mycroft smiled as he entered,

‘Mycroft’ Sherlock grimaced ‘what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Passing by’ Mycroft said as he took a seat in Sherlock’s chair ‘thought I’d check on you. You’re looking better’

Sherlock blushed slightly and lowered his head; his brother had seen him at many low moments in his life, Mycroft had been the one to put him into rehab, Mycroft had saved his life when Sherlock had relapsed and almost died from an overdose and Mycroft had been the one to save him from the Siberian hellhole where he was kept. His brother might be a pompous git but Sherlock couldn’t ask for a better one,

‘I’m getting there’ Sherlock replied after a moment’s hesitation,

‘I imagine our doctor friend is helping’ Mycroft smiled warmly at John who flushed slightly at the praise and shrugged,

‘Wouldn’t have it any other way’ John admitted ‘Do you want some tea?’

‘No thank you, I have dinner reservations with the German health minister, tedious man’ Mycroft grumbled ‘I wonder John, could I have a word in private?’

John nodded and followed Mycroft out the door and down the stairs until they stood on the path outside Baker Street; Mycroft reached into his briefcase and pulled out the files and folders. John took them nervously only to be stopped by the politician's hand over his own,

‘John’ Mycroft started, looking up at the Baker Street window ‘Don’t let him see’

John nodded once more before clearing his throat ‘Mycroft, have you…’

‘Information John’ came the cryptic reply ‘There are still 3 more out there including the boss in Ukraine’

John hesitated for a moment before squaring his shoulders and nodding, Captain Watson’s presence now evident in his body language.

Mycroft smiled and turned towards the car opening the door before stopping and looking back at his friend ‘Oh and John? Try not to make too much of a mess… and if it _is_ a mess, please contact me as soon as possible so I can arrange clean up’

John’s stomach dropped to his knees at the thought that Mycroft was giving the go-ahead to commit state-sanctioned murder. Mycroft climbed into the car without another word and promptly drove away leaving John alone with his thoughts.


	6. The Planning of the Revenge

Sherlock was already deep in his mind palace when John returned to the flat holding the files; he lingered in the doorway for a moment but finding that Sherlock was already miles away he quickly moved to his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Sitting on the bed he spread out the files and opened each one, in turn, scan reading the documents and looking at the photographs of mugshots and Sherlock’s injuries. John felt the rage burning up inside him; hotter than he had ever felt it before, he felt like his entire insides were scorching and blistering, his bones turning to ash with pure hatred.

John found the results of Sherlock’s rape kit; along with the DNA evidence which had been lifted it. The files also included the test results for STI's which had thankfully come back negative for all illnesses. Another test would be needed in 8 weeks to verify the findings the doctor in him realised, but it was a good sign that no lasting medical conditions would be present. John focussed on his targets mugshots and seared their faces into his memory before beginning to plan his revenge.

The older man stood and moved back downstairs; rummaging through the kitchen drawer until he found what he needed and returned to his bedroom. Sitting on the bed once more he flicked through the contents of Sherlock’s leather bound journal which included every name and number of his homeless network in alphabetical order, skimming the pages he found the name he wanted and lifted his own phone, inputting the number and dialling.

* * *

 

Natalie was sitting in the park watching the world pass by as her phone rang from inside her pocket. The only person who had this number was Sherlock and her stomach flipped at the memory of her friend tied up. She hadn’t been able to eat or sleep since finding the detective.

Answering the phone she was glad to hear Dr Watson’s voice through the speaker, she smiled as she greeted her acquaintance before asking after Sherlock;

‘He’s much better’ John said, a smile in his voice ‘I never said thank you for rushing to tell us where he was’

‘I couldn’t have left him…’ Natalie trailed off,

‘No. I know’ John sighed ‘Anyway, I have a job for you if you’re interested’

‘Absolutely’ she insisted, listening to John’s plan intently and reassuring the doctor that she could do it.

* * *

 

John disconnected the call to Natalie and locked away the files in his underwear drawer where hopefully Sherlock would never think to look; he checked his reflection and returned down the stairs to sit in his chair just in time for Sherlock to pull himself out of his mind palace with a stretch and a grimace of pain from his ribs.

‘Hello,’ John smiled, lifting his laptop to his knees.

‘Hungry’ Sherlock mumbled ‘hello’

‘We don’t have much in, I haven’t been shopping. I could go to Tesco-’ John started before Sherlock was off the sofa and on his knees between John’s legs with tears in his eyes.

‘No. Don’t leave’ Sherlock pleaded, _They might get me._

 _Do not think of Sherlock sexually_ John’s mind repeated _this isn’t sexual_

‘Oookay’ John soothed ‘But we need food’

‘Send Mycroft’ Sherlock insisted,

‘Your brother is in a meeting with a German minister’ John laughed ‘I don’t think he’d appreciate being forced to pop to the supermarket to buy peas’

‘Plus I bet he doesn’t know how to shop… I bet all he eats is sweets and puddings’ Sherlock grinned, tears still wet in his eyes.

‘Daft bugger’ John rolled his eyes ‘Have you never heard of the wonders of online shopping?’

Tapping open the supermarket's website, John soon had booked a timeslot for early the next morning and began filling up their online trolley asking Sherlock for his opinions and what the detective had a craving for. Sherlock grinned happily from the sofa that he had avoided John going out alone,

 _They’ll come back for you if he leaves_ his brain tormented once more.

* * *

 

Sherlock had once more asked John to stay with him during the night; the men had dined on soup and stolen bread from Mrs Hudson before sitting in their chairs to watch a dreadfully inaccurate detective drama. Sherlock enjoyed shouting abuse at the detectives on screen almost as much as he enjoyed abusing Anderson.

John looked up quizzically when Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat and began to speak in a whispering and childlike voice ‘would you stay with me tonight?’

John hesitated momentarily before nodding; Sherlock still needed the comfort of knowing that John was close and if John had to deal with another day of stiffness in his shoulder then he could grin and bear it for his best friend. Sherlock relaxed immediately once John agreed and the pair relaxed into silence once more.

* * *

 

‘You can’t sleep on the floor’ Sherlock insisted,

‘Its alright’ John shrugged,

‘No. Just… come up here’ Sherlock said softly as he lifted two sleeping bags from the cupboard ‘we can sleep in these, that way we’re close but have our own space’

John furrowed his brow slightly but nodded, helping Sherlock pull off the duvet from the bed before unrolling the thick camping bags. The two men awkwardly climbed inside the sleeping bags and giggled at the ridiculousness of two grown men in the same bed sleeping in camping gear but John had to admit… Sherlock’s bed was bloody lovely.

Sherlock switched off the light and the pair lay in darkness, the occasional car driving past the house the only sound.

‘Tell me something I don’t know’ John whispered to Sherlock,

Sherlock sat silently for a moment before speaking softly ‘when we were little, Mycroft and I were often left to our own devices as mummy and daddy were always busy. We had maids and nurses of course but mostly Mycroft looked after me as he was older. I was about 4 I think which would have made Mycroft 11, he had upset me by insisting I was an idiot’

‘That doesn’t sound like Mycroft’ John quipped rolling his eyes,

‘I knew a secret about Mycroft though’ Sherlock continued ‘Mycroft is bothered by the touch of feathers. He hates how they feel against him. I used to chase him around the garden clutching a chicken feather just to see him running. He was a chubby child’

John snorted back a laugh at the mental image of a wild curled Sherlock chasing a panting auburn haired Mycroft around a sprawling garden.

‘So, to get him back for calling me an idiot I waited until he had left the house and sneaked into his bedroom. I slowly picked out feathers from his pillow and laid them on the mattress before placing the duvet back into place and then I waited’ Sherlock smiled into the darkness, reliving the moment as though it was really happening ‘I heard him showering so I stood outside his doorway and listened to him when he went back into his bedroom, he pulled the cover back and screamed as a puff of feathers attacked him and stuck to his damp body’

John laughed hysterically at the thought of Mycroft covered in feathers, his face red and raging as he tried desperately to brush himself off.

‘He screamed so loudly that mummy thought he was being murdered’ Sherlock giggled ‘I was given a spanking by dad followed by no dessert for a week… but it was worth it’

‘You were an evil child’ John smiled as he entwined his finger into Sherlock’s softly,

‘Only to him’ Sherlock insisted before squeezing John’s finger and bidding his friend goodnight.


	7. The Revenge

** Three days later: **

Tonight was the night; the plan was in place, each person knew their roles and John was sickeningly excited for it to begin. Mycroft had confirmed that their target was correct and that he would be standing by for any information, Natalie insisted she had the correct place and Lestrade had insisted that he was there for backup if needed.

Sherlock was the only one out of the loop,

Mycroft came to John’s rescue with a simple visit;

‘I have tickets to see the Royal Concertgebouw orchestra and wondered whether you would like to accompany me?’ Mycroft smiled at his brother, a genuine smile.

‘How did you get those? They’ve been sold out for months’ Sherlock gasped before stopping himself. Mycroft _was_ the government after all.

‘I know how much you wanted to go so I got them for your birthday’ Mycroft shrugged ‘If you still want to go’

Sherlock looked at John nervously; he didn’t want to leave John alone and vulnerable in Baker Street, the thugs may come back for Sherlock and take John instead.

‘Go’ John laughed ‘I’ll be fine. I think me and Greg are meeting up for a pint anyway’

Sherlock bit his lip and internally warred with himself before nodding gently and accepting his brother’s offer;

‘I’ll send a car’ Mycroft smiled before leaving with a knowing look to John, unnoticed by Sherlock.

* * *

 

Natalie waited at the meeting spot nervously; her heart beating loudly in her ears as she waited for the doctor to arrive. The startled when she saw a shape appear in the semi-darkness of the alleyway but relaxed when she recognised the straight-backed gait of John approaching,

‘Natalie?’ he asked quietly,

‘I’m here’ she whispered, pulling him further into the shadows ‘He’s in there, alone, he’s waiting for a prostitute named Natalia’

John smiled and raised his eyebrow watching as Natalie blushed and shrugged ‘I thought it would be a good ruse’

‘You’re sure he’s alone?’ John asked, thankful he had tucked his gun into his waistband.

‘Absolutely. I saw him come in and nobody else has come or gone in the last 40 minutes’ she insisted.

John steeled himself for combat as he watched Natalie rummage through her bag and pull out a small case. John gulped nervously and accepted the case from her before opening it and looking at the contents inside,

‘It wasn’t easy to find, luckily I know a guy who knows a guy’ she whispered ‘you know what it does?’

‘I have an idea’ John replied,

Natalie nodded and turned to leave, being stopped by John’s hand around her wrist ‘Here’, the girl looked down at the wad of £50 notes being handed to her and gasped ‘Dr Watson, I can’t’

‘Look’ John started before staring into Natalie’s deep brown eyes ‘you’re the reason that we found Sherlock, you’re the reason I found him’ he gestured towards the doorway where the thug was waiting ‘you deserve it’

Natalie looked down and nodded before pocketing the money and pressing a kiss to John’s cheek softly ‘take care Dr Watson’ she whispered before disappearing into the London darkness.

* * *

 

The flat was obviously a bolthole where the man had been in hiding; the floor was littered with beer cans and army rations whilst sheets covered every window darkening the room until there was nothing but gloom. John sneaked inside and kept his back to the wall, his hand steady and his mind alert as he focussed on the man sitting on the sofa watching porn on a portable DVD player. John slipped around until he was inches away from his target and lifted the needle, with one forceful plunge, the needle had penetrated the skin and the liquid was flushed into the thug's veins.

‘Vybliadok’ the man swore as he stood up quickly, his beer can falling to the floor as his knees buckled and he stumbled towards John who simply moved to one side, his gun drawn.

‘Wha-what did you do to me?’ the man asked with panic lacing his voice,

‘Oh, this?’ John smiled ‘It’s a little something that I had made especially’

The Ukrainian faltered in his steps and fell to the floor as his legs refused to work any longer; John moved quickly to ensure that the man wasn’t armed or contacting his friends. John placed a well-aimed kick to the man’s face and watched as the man fell backwards with a grunt,

‘So, Anton Mudry’ John said sitting on the sofa looking down at the man on the floor ‘I think we need to have a little chat’

* * *

 

Anton’s face burnt, his body felt too hot and tight and there was a strange prickling feeling in his skull as he desperately tried to fight back against the poison flooding through his veins. Looking up at the man he finally recognised him,

‘Shit’ the man swore as he looked up ‘how did you find me?’

John chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing ‘You think you have contacts? You have nothing compared to what we have’

‘We?’ Anton asked,

‘Don’t tell me that your boss didn’t mention Sherlock’s big brother’ John laughed ‘Oh fuck he didn’t! You didn’t know! That’s hilarious’

‘His brother?. A minor job in the government’ Anton replied, his tongue felt funny in his mouth and saliva slipped from his lips.

‘Mycroft Holmes _is_ the government’ John laughed ‘Where do you think your cronies are?’

Anton swallowed deeply, it was becoming harder to focus, harder to talk and keep his eyes open.

‘Dmitry I’m afraid didn’t make it’ John sighed using his ‘ _doctor giving bad news’_ voice ‘I’m afraid that Mycroft had his tongue sliced out and forced him to eat it’

John was lying of course; Mycroft _probably_ didn’t do that but it was a good enough scare tactic.

Anton’s eyes grew wide and a choked sound escaped his lips as he realised the trouble he was in ‘Y-You won’t get away with this… whatever you injected… in the autopsy’

John laughed again, his stomach aching with his laughter ‘Fuck you’re hilarious. The Medical Examiner is also a very, very close friend of Sherlock’s. She’ll do anything for us. Faking an autopsy won’t be difficult, plus, I have another trick up my sleeve for that’ he smiled

‘You may start feeling dizzy, delirious and numb soon’ John began as he started to pace around the room ‘the brilliant thing about Hemlock is that it’s one of the most toxic compounds known to man but you know what’s genius about it?’ John asked looking down at the captive who was beginning to panic, ‘your body shuts down, becomes paralysed whilst your heart slowly becomes strangled but’ John grinned ‘your brain stays awake’

The doctor walked closer to the thug lying on the floor terrified and punched him twice in quick succession, his knuckles split open with the force of the punches but he didn’t feel any pain.

John flopped back down onto the sofa with a soft sigh ‘So, id like to say you were going to be okay, y’know with me being a doctor and all’ he smiled ‘but that would be a lie’

* * *

 

Sherlock was sitting in the royal box watching the orchestra play Beethoven beside his brother; his stomach was in nervous knots but he forced himself to relax, John was capable of looking after himself and he was with Lestrade. He would be okay.

Pulling out his phone he sent off a quick text and held the phone in his hands until it buzzed. Opening the text quickly Sherlock read the message and exhaled a huff of laughter, relaxing enough to enjoy the performance,

* * *

 

John opened a bottle of beer from the table and took a deep swig; it was strong and rich, it was delicious. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out and read the text;

**Are you still okay? Should I come home? – SH**

The older man smiled lovingly at Sherlock’s sweet text before replying with;

**Don’t even think about it. Enjoy your night with your brother, just remember no feathers – JW**

The man on the floor grunted painfully; he was well past the ability to speak now, his entire face had become paralysed and his hands had curled into painful talons as he twitched painfully. John watched dispassionately, sipping his beer slowly.

‘I know you can’t speak, but you can hear so I want you to listen to me’ John whispered, his voice low and dangerous ‘I know you raped Sherlock, you left your DNA inside him. I know you took him over and over again until he was bloody, you ripped him apart from the inside whilst trying to break his mind. I heard what he said to you, he talks in his sleep _I like what you do to me_ he says, he tried to convince you to stop and you didn’t’

Anton’s eyes filled with tears as he desperately attempted to communicate but finding only garbled sounds escaping his lips,

‘Normally this poisoning would take 48 hours but I increased the dose as I don’t want to be with you for that long. You disgust me, you are _everything_ I hate about this world and everything that me and Sherlock fight against. You tried to ruin Sherlock but you’ve only made him stronger, you tried to kill his mind, body and spirit but you haven’t. A creature like you couldn’t even chip Sherlock’s intellect’

A whine escaped Anton as he began to seize, his body voiding until he was covered in his own bodily fluids and twitching painfully. John watched as Anton foamed at the mouth and convulsed before stilling, walking to him John pressed his finger to the pulse and found it was slow and unsteady. Pulling out the second needle he stuck it into the vein and pushed in the dirty Heroin which Natalie had also brought for him, a cover story for why the man was dead in a flat. John left the needle in the man’s arm and began cleaning up the crime scene using the techniques he had learnt from his years with Sherlock.

‘I hope you rot in hell’ he whispered to the dying man on the floor ‘I hope it hurts, I hope you burn and you deserve this’

John drank the last of his beer and carried the empty bottle outside with him. Sending Mycroft and Lestrade a simple text with only the word **Done – JW**


	8. The Intimacy

Sherlock was close to dancing; his heart was light and his mind focused as he entered Baker Street with the sounds of Beethoven’s Symphony No.2 echoing around his brain, his nerves danced with electric pleasure and happiness as he opened the door and looked around the living room. Nothing had changed since he left, John was home ( _shoes and coat in their usual place, the smell of soap fresh, recently brewed tea)_ and everybody was safe. Sherlock smiled inanely and spun himself in a circle, feeling the heavy weight which had clamped around his heart and mind lift as he hummed along to the symphony. He cursed his wrist which was still in a cast for stopping him playing the violin but was content to listen;

John was standing in the doorway watching Sherlock dance, the room was silent but Sherlock was obviously hearing music in his head as he swayed and spun with his eyes closed. John cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow causing Sherlock to startle and open his eyes,

‘Have a nice time?’ John asked, his hands clamped behind his back so not to let Sherlock see his split knuckles.

‘Perfection in itself’ Sherlock swooned ‘If I believed in heaven, I would have the Royal Concertgebouw orchestra sitting on a cloud playing for me constantly’

John smiled, his heart fit to burst with pride and love for his best friend.

Sherlock stopped; looking over at John he scanned and deduced John’s appearance. Confusion flashed across his eyes followed by worry as he whispered ‘what did you do?’

John groaned he had been so careful. He had showered immediately after returning, he hadn’t touched anything in the flat except the coat rack and the shower. He tried to act as normal as possible but obviously had missed something.

‘What do you mean?’ John asked acting innocent,

‘You know what I mean’ Sherlock hissed ‘what did you do?’

John met Sherlock’s eyes and stayed silent,

‘You…’ Sherlock whispered,

‘Yes’ John nodded ‘and I don’t regret it’

‘H-How?’ Sherlock asked,

‘Hemlock’ John smiled watching Sherlock’s eyebrows raise and his breath huff out in surprise,

‘Well… didn’t expect that’ Sherlock laughed ‘Why not just shoot him?’

‘Not painful enough’ John seethed, his fists clenched.

‘But Hemlock… where did you even find it?’ Sherlock whispered,

‘Homeless network’ John shrugged ‘You have a lot of people who care about you and want to make things better’

Sherlock nodded ‘You could have just taken some from the drawer’

John gasped and looked over at the detective ‘We have Hemlock in the house?’

‘Top shelf, third vial in. Next to the cyanide and arsenic’ Sherlock laughed ‘you should have asked’

* * *

 

John settled himself on the sofa; they were starting to have a routine where each night the pair would pick a film and settle down to watch it. Neither had an interest in socialising with anybody else and found that quiet nights in with wine and take away had become their new favourite thing. John let Sherlock pick the movie tonight and was surprised when the detective returned with a chick flick, John had never seen the film himself; his ex-girlfriend had forced him to buy it as she claimed it was the most romantic film but Sherlock had driven her away with barbed deductions regarding the woman’s shoplifting habits. John smiled at the memory before relaxing into the quiet of the flat.

An hour later and the pair were still sitting close but not touching; John shivered slightly as the cold flat began to penetrate his thin pyjamas. Sherlock looked over and stood, walking to pick up the tartan blanket which was hidden in his wardrobe before returning and tucking it around John’s cold body and climbing under it himself.

Sherlock’s breathing hitched as he steeled himself to ask John the question he had been psyching himself up for; he looked over at his best friend and whispered ‘Could I try something?’

John nodded, his eyebrows knitted together as he watched Sherlock take a deep breath before lowering his head to John’s lap. John stayed frozen, his eyes following Sherlock as the detective settled his cheek against the warmth of John’s thigh,

A soft sniffle escaped Sherlock as he felt himself tense against the fabric of John’s pyjama trousers; being so close to John’s genitals and surrounded by the scent of John was almost too overwhelming. His breathing stuttered and began to pant harder and rougher, desperate and terrified.

‘Calm down, you’re safe’ John soothed, his hands itching to bury themselves into Sherlock’s curls and stroke until Sherlock calmed, the doctor knew this wouldn’t be the best course of action.

‘I-know’ Sherlock panted, his eyes tightly closed ‘Irrational-fear’

‘What can I do to help?’ John asked quietly,

‘Just… sit’ Sherlock replied, his breathing settling as he calmed himself and forced his body to remain in position against John’s leg.

‘You’ve done so well’ John whispered ‘Jesus Sherlock, I don’t know how you do it but you’re a fucking wonder’

Sherlock hid a smile at the blooming warmth which spread through his body at John’s praise. His body relaxed and his mind quieted as he stayed against John’s thigh finally serene and happy that he could be close to John.

* * *

 

Sherlock had never thought much about his sexuality; relationships and sexual gratification had never been a priority in his life. When he was a child he had received _the talk_ from Mycroft who had educated him on the changes his body would go through; the deepening of the voice, the strange coarse hairs appearing from places where no hair existed previously and the worst part… the seemingly constant erections which had a mind of their own and wouldn’t be controlled. Mycroft had handed Sherlock a selection of leaflets pilfered from the university where he studied and told the younger boy to read them carefully,

Sherlock had read each leaflet and decided that sex wasn’t for him.

Not to say that his body didn’t rebel against this decision; Sherlock was plagued with uncomfortable and awkward erections day and night, anything from a simple brushing of fabric against his crotch would be enough to get his penis interested. Sherlock became a master of self-pleasure, finding the quickest and easiest way to get himself off in order to concentrate on other matters.

The detective hadn’t had any interest in sex or relationships until John Watson limped into his life; the doctor with his own issues had fit into Sherlock’s life better than either of them had expected. Their lives quickly becoming something simple ( _as simple as life can be chasing serial killers and living with eyeballs in the fridge)_ and perfectly organised as John’s good habits rubbed off on Sherlock. The pair grew closer, an affection forming, an unspoken bond of care and love between them.

Until the fall, the years away, the grief and depression, the wedding, the betrayal, the murder, the lies.

Life had become difficult when Sherlock returned; their relationship had become strained and different. John was living with Mary, a killer in disguise as a gentle nurse. Her soft fabrics and bright smile hiding the truth from both Sherlock and John until it was too late and Sherlock was dying on the operating table,

John Watson brought him back.

From that moment; Sherlock had known that he was in love with his best friend. His heart beat only for John Watson, his mind thought of John first thing in the morning and the last thing at night but now Sherlock was even more broken than before, his body bruised and marked with a permanent scar of violation.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes and relaxed onto John’s leg feeling the warmth of John’s sturdy muscles beneath his cheek. Sherlock took John’s hand and placed it into his hair, stiffening slightly at the unusual feeling before relaxing when John soothed him with a soft ‘shhhh’ and began to stroke, carefully brushing his fingers through the silky strands.

Outside of Baker Street, life went on as normal, unaware of the monumental change which had just happened inside.


	9. The Intimacy Part 2

The film had ended hours ago; the title menu open on the TV ignored as both men sat silently together on the sofa lost in thought. John’s fingers tangled in Sherlock’s hair as the detective snuggled deeper into John’s embrace.

A clap of thunder rumbled outside the windows in the darkness of London followed by the _tiptiptip_ noise of rain pattering against the glass. John startled and looked outside, watching the trails of water running down the windowpane and anticipating the flash of lightning. The room was illuminated by the white burst of electricity which startled both men and had them chuckling softly at their own silliness. Sherlock sat up from his position on John’s leg and pulled his legs up to his bum, wrapping his arms around his knees he moved the blanket until it covered both their backs and folded up to their fronts. The two men sat closer than ever before, their thighs touching but the feeling no longer terrified Sherlock; he rested his head against his best friends shoulder and smiled as another crack vibrated the glass in the windows. John turned to press a soft and tender kiss on the crown of Sherlock’s head before entwining their fingers together. The most they had touched since the attack. John expected a reaction from Sherlock; as though it was too soon or too much but Sherlock smiled and squeezed their fingers together to let John know that he was content.

* * *

 

The pair had been sharing Sherlock’s bed for over a week in separate sleeping bags before the detective decided that he was ready for them to try being under the same cover. Their friendship had remained the same, Sherlock would occasionally curl up with his head against John’s leg or shoulder whilst they watched a film or they would entwine hands whenever Sherlock felt nervous or anxious but everything was surprisingly normal.

‘John?’ Sherlock whispered from his position against John’s shoulder,

‘Hmm?’ the doctor replied sleepily,

‘Tonight, when we sleep, we can use the duvet’ Sherlock said feigning a confident tone.

‘Okay’ John smiled, keeping his face neutral he continued to watch the film whilst his stomach flipped and fluttered with butterflies at the change.

The two men retired to bed; John remade the bed whilst Sherlock brushed his teeth. When it was John’s turn to use the bathroom, Sherlock climbed under the sheets and steadied his breathing. His heartbeat was racing and his head was spinning from his fast breathing but he wanted to do this.

John returned with a smile and a minty fresh aroma; climbing into the bed he ensured that there was space between the two of them by pushing a pillow between their sides as a buffer. He settled in a comfortable position and clicked off the lamp on his bedside table letting darkness surrounded them,

‘Tell me something I don’t know’ Sherlock whispered, they had played this game every night since they had begun to share a bed. The conversations quickly becoming one of John’s favourite moments of the day as he learned more about his best friend and Mycroft in the process. Tonight was John’s turn to tell a story,

‘I don’t have anything interesting left’ John smiled into the blackness,

Sherlock entwined their fingers together; a sign that he was becoming anxious as he whispered ‘tell me about your first love’

‘My first love?’ John laughed, ‘Do you mean the first crush? Or first proper love?’

‘Any… all of them’ Sherlock said with a smile in his voice as he ran his thumb over John’s slightly rough skin.

‘Wow, I think my first proper crush was a girl called Susie’ John smiled ‘She was blonde and had this cute little button nose. She used to try to push me over in the playground’

‘How old were you?’ Sherlock asked surprised

‘6 maybe 7’ John replied with a chuckle, ‘It would never have worked. We wanted different things; she loved the swings whereas I was all about the climbing frame’

Sherlock barked out a laugh, wincing at the ache in his ribs as he laughed harder until tears formed in his eyes ‘what about your first love?’

John inhaled deeply before speaking, he didn’t like dwelling on this part of his life but Sherlock wanted to know.

‘Her name was Julia’ John sighed ‘We were 19, at university together. Her friend was one of my flatmates and we met on a night out’

Sherlock continued stroking John’s thumb softly, feeling the change in the atmosphere.

‘We had been together a year when we decided to move in together, make it official. We had met each other’s parents, even considered buying a puppy’ John huffed a sad laugh ‘She was beautiful, long dark hair down to her bum and the darkest eyes I’d ever seen but she was intelligent too, she was training to be a radiographer’

‘What happened?’ Sherlock asked softly,

‘We both passed University and moved into a little flat on the high street. It wasn’t much but it was ours; I got up one morning to go to work at the local hospital and kissed her goodbye as she was on the late shift’ John continued ‘I didn’t think any more of it until we got a trauma call later that day to say that the ambulance was bringing in a young woman who had been hit by a bus whilst cycling’

Sherlock’s stomach dropped realising where the conversation was going,

‘When the ambulance brought her through, I didn’t recognise her’ John whispered, his eyes filling with tears as his memory vividly showed the battered body of his lover ‘She had been cycling to her mother’s house and was hit by a bus who hadn’t checked it’s mirrors before pulling out’

‘John I-’ Sherlock started before silencing himself,

‘I only realised it was her when I noticed she was wearing the necklace I had bought her for her birthday. I took control of the situation, started ordering people into their positions and ensuring that everything was done right. In all honesty, she was probably dead the second the bus hit her but I couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t accept or allow it. I tried everything, every drug, every device we had to keep her alive but in the end, the consultant had to pull me away. It took three security guards and a shot of Diazepam to calm me down. After that, I signed up for the army and the rest you know’ John whispered wiping away a tear,

‘I had no idea’ Sherlock replied sadly ‘I didn’t observe any of that’

‘I think I tried to forget her, forget how horrible the pain was’ John admitted ‘I’ve only ever felt that pain three times, once was her. Once was you on the floor after the roof and the last was you in the warehouse’

‘I’m sorry’ Sherlock whispered emotionally, ‘I’m so sorry’

‘The difference is Sherlock’ John croaked, emotion breaking his voice ‘I got you back. She’s gone and as bad as it sounds, she’s forgotten because I found you and keep finding you. You keep coming back to me’

‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel’ Sherlock admitted ‘I keep feeling this strange sensation in my stomach like a swarm of bees are flying around and it happens when I look at you. You know I love you as my best friend… but I’m scared it’s something more’

‘Why are you scared?’ John asked

‘Because you’ll leave’ Sherlock whispered.

‘Never’ John insisted ‘In truth, I feel the same way’

‘This is very confusing’ Sherlock said as his thumb stopped moving over John’s ‘Can we go to sleep so I can try to clear my mind?’

John snorted a laugh and nodded ‘Of course. Night Sherlock’

‘Night John’

* * *

 

Lestrade sat outside the average looking house; there was nothing suspicious or enlightening regarding the exterior of the building but Lestrade knew that inside was a different story. Inside was the final rapist, the final chance at revenge against the men who had hurt Sherlock,

When the DI had met Sherlock; he had been another junkie wasting NHS money and causing a public nuisance by OD’ing in the street. Lestrade wasn’t particularly sympathetic to drug users and found this scrawny man no different until the younger man had pulled on Lestrade’s leg and croaked out some startling deductions regarding Greg’s personal life. Greg had helped them load the almost unconscious man into the ambulance before following along on the pretext of getting a statement. He had almost walked out half a dozen times until the doctors had returned to say that Sherlock was stable and able to talk. Greg had interviewed the younger man who introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes and changed Greg’s life completely.

Yes, the man was rude and obnoxious, he created more paperwork than anybody Lestrade had ever met and having the ever-present shadow of Mycroft bloody Holmes was terrifying at times but Greg had found himself warming to the young _consulting detective_ as he called himself. The prickly demeanour of Sherlock’s personality was all a façade until you got to know the man and learnt that deep down; he was nothing like the way he acted. Until John arrived on the scene, Greg would be the one to help Sherlock get through danger nights with board games and terrible food, the two men would stay up late talking or discussing cases until Sherlock felt able to return to Baker Street without the temptation to use.

When John arrived, Greg had been slightly jealous that he had to share Sherlock but John was impossible to dislike. John and he would go for drinks and avoid Sherlock ( _especially when he was experimenting)_ and John’s good manners and personality had started to slowly rub off on Sherlock in everyday life. The detective was much nicer to people (except Anderson) and Greg found himself trusting Sherlock further with more delicate cases.

Removing his hip flask he took a deep gulp of the Whisky inside, feeling it burning down his throat as he continued watching the house and the comings and goings of life outside the car. He had been here every night this week since receiving the files from Mycroft, staking the place out and watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Lestrade had never expected to find himself in this position; vigilantism wasn’t his style but the court system in England was too lenient for these animals. In his day to day life, Lestrade dealt with murderers, kidnappers, thieves and all manner of criminals in-between but rapists were the lowest of the low. The real evil sons of bitches who needed to be scrubbed from the earth one by one.

Greg remembered the look on Sherlock’s face as he entered the warehouse; the look of shame and embarrassment at being caught in the position was more prominent than pain or shock. Lestrade gripped the steering wheel tighter and ground his teeth together as he imagined the man inside the house, laughing and joking, enjoying his life thinking that he had got away with his crimes.

The door to the car opened and Mycroft climbed inside; a distasteful look on his face as he was forced to sit in the messy and unkempt work car which Lestrade kept. Mycroft kicked away the empty takeaway wrappers from the footwell before turning to look at Greg in the driver’s seat.

‘Anything new?’

Greg shook his head and offered the flask to Mycroft who took it and swigged eagerly.

‘I’m ready whenever you are’


	10. The Revenge Part 2,

Mycroft hung back as Greg kicked open the door with splintering force; quickly moving to grab their target and hold him tight as he snicked the handcuffs closed around the startled man’s wrists. The man looked at his captors with wide-eyed panic and alarm before exhaling shakily,

‘I knew you would be coming’ he said softly,

‘Why? Because all of your other friends are dead?’ Greg smiled ‘It’s finally your turn?’

‘I’m not afraid to die’ the man spat looking Mycroft up and down,

‘Keep telling yourself that’ Mycroft sneered, watching as Greg punched the man hard in the face and knocked him out with a blow.

‘Nicely done Detective Inspector’ Mycroft grinned as he gestured for Lestrade to lead the way with Greg carrying the heavy body over his shoulder.

* * *

 

The drive to the docks was almost silent with only the occasional whimper from the captive to break the quiet. Mycroft sat seemingly deep in thought as Greg drove quickly but within the speed limit. He didn’t want to have to explain to a road officer why he had an unconscious and shackled Ukrainian in his back seat.

Greg pulled the car to a stop and took a deep breath, catching Mycroft’s eye.

‘You don’t have to do this’ Mycroft insisted ‘We wouldn’t think badly of you if you decided you couldn’t’

A snigger from the back seat immediately sent a flare of anger up Greg’s spine as he turned his head to look at the thug in the back ‘Coward. Pathetic whiny little bitch’

Mycroft sneered and opened his door; he pulled out his mobile and sent off a quick text whilst Lestrade pulled himself together and also exited the vehicle. Grabbing the captive by the arm he roughly tugged the man from his seat and sent him sprawling to the floor,

‘He begged you know’ the Ukrainian continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief and hatred as he looked up at the two older men, ‘He begged for more. Told us he loved it, told us he enjoyed it’

Greg moved quickly and placed a calming hand on Mycroft’s arm; steadying the man and stopping him from immediately beating the thug to death there and then.

Mycroft slicked back his hair and steadied his face into its usual stoic façade before opening his phone and smiling. Greg turned in time to see a hard-hatted worker walking towards them,

‘Mr ‘Olmes’ the man smiled nervously ‘If you’d like to follow me’

Greg lifted the thug to his feet and pulled him along between himself and Mycroft, ignoring the poisonous and vile words spewing from his lips. The four men walked into a maze of shipment containers and cranes until the hardhat-wearing man stopped and pointed towards an open crate.

‘That one’ he said as he gestured towards the metal container ‘Everything set up like you asked’

‘Thank you Malcolm’ Mycroft said softly to the man,

‘Mr ‘Olmes? Does that mean the visa is sorted? Chun Yin can stay?’ the man added nervously, looking down at his feet.

‘Yes. I’ll have the paperwork sent over immediately. Thank you, Malcolm. Now please remember that you signed the official secret act, if any of this information is released I would immediately revoke all privileges that I have granted’ Mycroft warned darkly ‘but a loss of a visa wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen’

Malcolm’s eyes widened as he shook his head side to side ‘No Sir, I won’t tell a soul. Not as long as I live’

Mycroft nodded and thanked the man who quickly fled the scene, leaving the Ukrainian alone with his captors once more.

‘Home sweet home’ Mycroft smiled eerily before gesturing for Greg to push the man inside the container.

* * *

 

Greg knew this was wrong; this was murder. He had killed people before in the line of duty but it had always been for a valid and justifiable reason; his job had ensured that but _this_? This was plain and simple vengeance. Lestrade’s mind warred with itself over the morals and ethics of killing this man, he worked towards law enforcement, for criminal justice and a fair trial… but he also knew that this man had connections and could possibly avoid detection and go underground in Ukraine or other countries with no hassle. Greg also had to admit; he desperately wanted revenge for Sherlock.

Watching Mycroft’s mannerisms change from mild-mannered ( _if not slightly scary)_ politician to sinister interrogator gave Greg chills up and down his spine. He watched as Mycroft pushed the man to the floor and stood over him looking down with cold, dispassionate eyes.

‘You hurt my brother’ Mycroft said simply,

‘And I would again. He had the perfect tight arsehole. It was me, who ripped him open for the others’ the man smiled,

 _Shut up you fool_ Greg warned the man mentally _you have no idea what he’s capable of._

Mycroft turned away slightly before hitting the man with the handle of his umbrella as hard as he could possibly swing. The sickening crack of wood coated steel against the man’s skull seemed to echo around the metal container as the man sprawled himself on the floor with a thud.

‘You should be grateful’ Mycroft hissed towards the man ‘my friend here isn’t a fan of torture but I’ve got it down to an art form. I could have you in a chair for days, cutting away slices and burning away the flesh until you were calling out for your whore of a mother’

‘Fuck you’ the man spat, blood dripping down his face from the cut on his temple.

‘This plan is genius if I say so myself. A Ukrainian national on the run from the police for a heinous crime decides to smuggle himself out of the country and back to Europe to avoid justice… but oh silly him, he doesn’t realise that the crate is sealed resulting in a slow and painful death by suffocation’ Mycroft continued, using the end of his umbrella to lift the man’s jaw to maintain eye contact ‘However, before he dies, he goes momentarily insane and begins smashing his head against the walls attempting to escape’

Greg walked over to the man lying on the floor dazed and landed two hard punches on the man’s face before adding a kick to the ribs for good measure. His blood was boiling towards the vile man beneath him and a red mist descended over him as he rained punches and kicks onto the man who was beginning to beg for mercy. Teeth and blood flew across the crate as Greg continued hitting and kicking until he was exhausted and was pulled away by Mycroft with a soft and gentle touch to the arm.

‘Mercy?’ Mycroft laughed bitterly ‘This _is_ mercy’

Greg unsnapped the handcuffs from the man’s arms aware that he would be unable to escape due to the major bleeding and trauma which the punches had caused. Mycroft led the way out of the container followed soon after by Lestrade who gave the man one last lingering look before closing the doors behind him; sealing the Ukrainian into the crate and sentencing him to death.

‘Help me, please’ the man screamed loudly from inside the dark container ‘Somebody’

‘I’d save your breath if I were you’ Mycroft said loudly ‘It’s a long, long way to Tipperary’

Greg looked up confused at Mycroft as the politician began whistling ‘ _it’s a long way to Tipperary’_ as he walked away from the container. The DI stayed a moment longer, watching as Malcolm moved the crane to collect the container and add it onto the ship with the others.

‘How long will it take for him to die?’ Lestrade asked nervously ‘Won’t they find him?’

Mycroft smiled at Lestrade before shaking his head ‘Malcolm has instructions to _accidentally_ have that one thrown over the side and to the bottom of the North Channel’

‘Jesus’ Greg shook his head ‘won’t anybody notice?’

Mycroft gave a look which screamed _don’t be ridiculous_ before walking back to the car ‘If you could drop me back at the Diogenes I would be appreciative’ he smiled as he stood and waited for Lestrade to open the central locking.


	11. The Intimacy Part 3

Sherlock and John spent the day wandering aimlessly around London’s parks; the day was bright and clear and the air was crisp as they took in the beauty of London. Sherlock’s cast was due to be removed any day and his facial bruises had almost disappeared entirely; his ribs still twinged when pulled but all in all, Sherlock was feeling almost back to normal.

The pair walked and talked together as Sherlock pointed out the different plants and named the wildlife which called the park its home whilst John enjoyed his best friends company. The occasional passer-by recognised them from the papers but mostly they were left to themselves to enjoy their afternoon together.

‘Angelos?’ Sherlock asked he hadn’t been outside the flat to eat for weeks.

‘If you’re sure’ John shrugged,

Sherlock nodded and began walking towards Angelo’s restaurant whilst talking quickly and flamboyantly about something which went completely over John’s head. The doctor didn’t mind, he enjoyed listening to Sherlock’s baritone voice hum around him.

* * *

 

Angelo was excited to see Sherlock and insisted on giving him the VIP treatment with a free meal and as much free wine as he and John could drink. Sherlock had thanked his friend kindly and ordered his usual as John hummed and hawed over his own choice eventually deciding on spaghetti carbonara. The atmosphere was relaxed and peaceful as Sherlock and John chatted, neither arguing when Angelo placed a large, lit white candle onto the table with a wink. John scoffed and rolled his eyes as Sherlock grinned and took another sip of the delicious red wine which Angelo had brought over personally,

The food was delicious as always and Sherlock ate his fill until he complained to John that his trousers felt fit to burst. The doctor chuckled heartily at the thought and advised Sherlock that it was probably because he hadn’t been eating properly, snacking and nibbling on whatever John placed in front of him. Sherlock shrugged and agreed before excusing himself to use the bathroom.

John pulled out his phone and checked for texts from Mycroft or Greg knowing that they were following the final suspect; he saw nothing and frowned, placing his phone back into his pocket and taking hold of his glass. The minutes dragged by with no sign of Sherlock returning; John frowned and checked the time again before putting his napkin back onto the table and standing up, he walked to the toilets and opened the door.

Sherlock was curled in the corner; his hands pushed into his eyes as he cried whilst a waiter desperately tried to help him from the floor by holding his arms. The pitiful cries from Sherlock were enough for John to see red and grab the serving boy roughly, pushing him away from Sherlock and against the wall with John’s hand around his throat.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ the older man growled into the teenage boy's face, watching the boy’s eyes bug out in alarm.

‘I-I asked for his autograph… I’m a big fan of the-the blog and when I touched his arm to get his attention he freaked out’ the boy said panic-stricken ‘I thought he was having a seizure and tried to wake him up’

John exhaled, looking at the boy and then at a still crying Sherlock he let the boy free and removed his hand ‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that’

‘No-No I’m sorry. I-I just wanted a signature’ the boy said teary-eyed ‘I did-didn’t mean to hurt anybody’

‘You didn’t’ John soothed, his anger dissolving immediately ‘Sherlock had a rough time recently that’s all, he’ll be okay. Can you ask Angelo to call us a taxi please and we’ll be right out?’

‘Y-Yes of course’ the boy stammered before fleeing the toilets.

‘John’ Sherlock gasped, his tiny frame swamped by the coat which covered him and half of the floor ‘John’

‘Shh, it’s okay’ John hushed ‘can you stand?’

Sherlock bit his lip but nodded nervously as John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s middle and helped him up. Sherlock threw himself into John’s arms and sobbed; huge gasping breaths escaping his lips as he soaked John’s collar with tears and whimpers. The doctor stroked the taller man’s hair and whispered soothing sounds into his friend's ear as they stood hugging,

‘Okay, now people will really talk’ John smiled as he helped Sherlock to clear his face and look decent to leave the bathroom. Sherlock followed his friend, their fingers entwined as John led the detective from the toilet to the front door where Angelo was waiting nervously, a look of shock passing over his features as he saw Sherlock’s red and blotchy face.

‘Is he okay?’ Angelo asked ‘Peter said he’d had some sort of seizure’

‘He’s fine, reaction to some new medication’ John lied, a reassuring smile passing his lips for Angelo’s benefit,

John reached into his wallet and pulled out a handful of notes before giving them to Angelo. The restaurateur refused to accept the money for the food until John insisted that he give the money to Peter the waiter instead, John’s guilt for pushing the boy against the wall without first determining the situation was enough to warrant a decent tip.

‘Please’ John urged ‘Give him this and my sincere apologies’

Angelo took the money and nodded; averting his eyes from Sherlock who had begun to sniffle and cry again silently. The cab pulled up to the kerb and Angelo bid his favourite patron's goodnight before moving back to his other customers. John helped Sherlock climb into the taxi and gave the driver the address of home before sitting back in the seats and taking Sherlock onto his chest to allow the detective to cry against John.

‘I’m-sorry’ Sherlock panted between sobs ‘I-just-froze’

‘Hey,’ John soothed, his fingers lifting Sherlock’s chin until the detective was looking up at him with watery colourless eyes ‘Don’t be sorry. You have no reason to be’

Sherlock sighed as he felt John press a tender kiss on the slightly sweaty skin of his forehead. The kiss lasted longer than any of their previous touches and Sherlock tried to catalogue each sensation before his mind forgot it ( _one-day stubble, using new toothpaste, chapped lips)._

‘None of that in the car’ the driver grimaced into the mirror looking over at his passengers who were cosily cuddled up together, their intimacy plain to see.

‘None of what?’ John asked angrily, staring the man down.

‘That gay stuff’ the cabbie spat ‘unnatural and ungodly’

John’s blood boiled and he moved to discuss the conversation further until he was stopped by Sherlock moving from John’s embrace and slouching into the other corner of the door. John bit his bottom lip and shook his head; he wasn’t going to have Sherlock feeling like shit because of one homophobic wanker,

John moved to wrap his arms tighter around Sherlock and pull him in closer; resting his chin on Sherlock’s head he wrapped his arms around the tiny body of the detective and began whispering sweetness into Sherlock’s ear. It was completely innocent whispering, John asked what tea Sherlock would prefer when he got into the flat and what film they would watch tonight, softly discussing the fact that Sherlock’s cast was coming off soon and he’d be able to play his violin again. His hands moved to stroke the soft curls which had become slightly knotted with sweat as he pressed another kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, staring at the cabbie all the while, desperately hoping that the driver would say something else but he seemed to have backed down from the challenge and stayed silent until they reached Baker Street where he stopped the car,

Sherlock climbed from the car and moved to open the front door whilst John paid the driver. The doctor handed the man the exact fare and moved to climb from the seat before turning around and glaring at the driver,

‘We’re not gay, not that it matters if we were, but you have no idea the trauma that that man has been through and now you’ve gone and told him that asking for comfort from his best friend is unnatural. I hope you’re proud of yourself’ John spat as he slammed the door and jogged to the door to the flat, climbing the stairs and walking into the living room where Sherlock sat timidly on the sofa.

‘He’s right’ Sherlock whispered ‘It is unnatural’

‘What is?’ John frowned

‘Me, cuddling you, forcing you to give me comfort’ Sherlock replied tearfully,

‘You don’t force me to do anything’ John soothed sitting beside his best friend and holding Sherlock’s chin in a soft grip ‘I like giving you comfort if it’s what you need’

Sherlock looked at his best friend nervously; his eyes straying from John’s eyes to the wine-stained lips and back up again. The bees in his stomach were back and the need to do _something_ was growing, his eyes once more strayed to the delicious looking lips and Sherlock was certain what he wanted and _needed_ to do.

The softest brush of a kiss surprised John into absolute frozen silence; Sherlock pressed their lips together and whined low and desperate as he felt John’s lips against his for the first time. It was chaste and simple, a bare touch of skin but every nerve in Sherlock’s body sang _this is the missing piece_

John allowed Sherlock to determine how long they stayed pressed together, he didn’t move his arms instead wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s own and felt them trembling under his skin. Sherlock pulled away and blinked owlishly before grinning large and delighted which set off John’s own giggles.

A vibration from John’s phone startled both men and caused Sherlock to chuckle deeply ‘I didn’t know you could do _that_ ’

‘Are you making knob jokes?’ John laughed; his cheeks flushed red as he giggled childishly.

‘Might be’ Sherlock admitted before standing and removing his coat, walking to the kitchen he clicked on the kettle and began pulling out tea-making utensils.

John smiled and reached for his phone; opening the message from Lestrade he skim read the message and placed the phone on the coffee table in front. The men had completed their task with the final thug which left only the boss in solitary confinement to deal with; something neither John nor Lestrade had any chance of participating in.

‘He’s dead then?’ Sherlock asked as he walked back to the sofa with two cups of steaming tea.

John narrowed his eyes and stayed silent as Sherlock approached, the detective rolled his eyes and sat down handing John his mug before starting his deductions,

‘You’ve been checking your phone regularly in Angelo’s which makes me think either you’re organising a date or you’re awaiting important news. As I know you’re not currently dating that narrows it down to news; it can’t be anything work related as we haven’t had a case in weeks and the surgery has allowed you to take personal leave so it’s not them meaning it can only be either Lestrade or Mycroft. Considering that you actively killed one of my attackers, my brother _interrogated_ a selection and there was one remaining, I would assume that Lestrade and Mycroft have tracked him down and finished the job’ Sherlock finished his rambling with a sip of tea ‘Am I right?’

‘Brilliant as always’ John grinned ‘Yes, it’s done. There’s only the boss left’

‘Do they say how they did it?’ Sherlock asked quizzically.

‘No. Just that it’s done’ John shrugged ‘Not sure I want to know’

Sherlock nodded and turned his attention back to his mug ‘what film shall we watch?’

* * *

 

The atmosphere between the two men was heated as they snuggled together on the sofa; Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa in his pyjamas resting his head against John’s upper thigh as John stroked the soft curls whilst they watched a Spanish horror film. The flat was warm and toasty and both men felt content to laze against one another happily,

‘John?’ Sherlock asked from below,

John stopped stroking Sherlock’s curls and answered ‘Hmm?’

‘Could… could we try more kissing?’ Sherlock asked nervously,

‘If that’s what you want’ John replied with a soft smile. His stomach was flipping excitedly and his brain was already rushing a million miles a second as he tried to process what was going to happen.

Sherlock sat up and folded his legs into a comfortable position until he was facing the doctor; a nervous half smile on his lips.

‘I’ll let you lead’ John insisted softly ‘that way, you won’t feel overwhelmed’

Sherlock nodded and moved slowly to press his dry lips against Johns. It wasn’t an overtly sexual or sensual kiss, more skin on skin than passionate but John enjoyed every second of Sherlock so close to himself. He steadied himself with one arm on the back of the sofa whilst the other sought out Sherlock’s hand to entwine their fingers. Sherlock pulled away with a slight flush to his cheeks and bit his lip,

‘That was nice’ John whispered, blaming his own flush on the heat of the room.

Sherlock nodded again and closed the gap between them; this time he opening his lips slightly, parting them and tasting John’s lips for the first time. John held back a groan as he followed suit and opened his own lips, keeping his tongue away until Sherlock tentatively ran his tongue along the seam of John’s lip and then inside to brush against John’s teeth. John shivered with desire at the feeling of Sherlock’s tongue in his mouth and reciprocated the gesture, trailing his tongue over Sherlock.

The younger man moved John’s hand to cup his jawline, holding Sherlock’s head steady with John’s supportive hand seemed like the most natural thing in the world and soon both men had begun a simple rhythm of gentle kisses. John’s thumb stroked over Sherlock’s cheekbone as they kissed seductively, their bodies responding to the close proximity for the first time.

The two men pulled away gasping slightly at the breathlessness which engulfed them; Sherlock trembled softly as John wrapped his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and kissed his forehead gently, a comforting peck to show his devotion.

‘J-John’ Sherlock mumbled, a blush flooding his cheeks and neck.

‘Yeah?’ John replied before noticing the tented pyjamas on both himself and Sherlock ‘oh’

Sherlock edged away from the erection which strained John’s bottoms as though it was venomous or dangerous. John quickly moved to better position himself to mast the indiscreet package before turning back to Sherlock,

‘You don’t have to worry about anything’ John soothed ‘Honestly, it’s not a problem Sherlock’

‘I-I want’ Sherlock began before trailing off,

‘Go on’ John soothed again, running his thumb over Sherlock’s hand ‘you can tell me’

‘I’m aroused and for the first time since…’ he stopped to take a deep breath ‘I want to do something about it’

‘Oh….OH,’ John finally understood what Sherlock was saying ‘erm… I could leave you alone for a while if you like? Or you could go to bed or the shower? I don’t know where you would normally do it… I never noticed’

‘Normally in bed’ Sherlock blushed ‘but… would you come with me?’

John hesitated momentarily; he was a heterosexual man ( _mostly… probably not since realising he was in love with his best friend and had just enjoyed a snogging session with a man)_ and by taking this next step he would be effectively participating in foreplay with another bloke. In the army, he had known that soldiers in the barracks masturbated but it was a subject which was never raised due to British manners; and of course being a doctor meant that he had often touched another man’s genitals but that was his job. It was never sexual.

His heart hammered and his throat dried as he thought about how badly things could go. What if he decided midway through that it wasn’t something he wanted to do? If he decided that he’d gone momentarily insane and couldn’t continue his budding relationship with Sherlock?

Sherlock cleared his throat bringing John from his confused thoughts and back into real life where he looked at his best friend, the man he clearly adored and loved with his entire heart and realised that nothing in the world could ever stop that from being true.

‘Of course I will’ John said with determination ‘let me lock up’

* * *

 

John locked up the doors and windows before walking to Sherlock’s bedroom where the detective was already in bed; the curtains had been drawn and the bedside lamp was the only light in the entire flat as John pulled back the covers and climbed inside. Sherlock was still in his pyjamas, his head resting on the pillows with his eyes closed as John turned to look at him,

‘Stop staring at me’ Sherlock mumbled before cracking open an eye making John laugh,

‘You’re so lovely’ John cooed,

‘Oh hush you fool’ Sherlock rolled his eyes before turning to look at his friend ‘John, is this weird?’

John found himself nodding slightly ‘a little bit’ he admitted ‘but it’s only because it’s new’

‘I don’t think I want you to see me yet…’ Sherlock whispered ‘Would you mind if I turned off the light and stayed under the cover?’

‘Not at all’ John replied, almost glad that he would be able to deal with his new development in stages ‘do whatever feels good’

Sherlock nodded and turned off the lamp leaving them in darkness before shuffling to pull down his pyjama bottoms and free the still erect cock from within. John ignored his own needs in order to concentrate on Sherlock’s breathing as the detective obviously took himself in hand.

‘Oh is your cast hand your...’ John trailed off as he heard Sherlock whisper a ‘no’

‘Should I be quiet?’ John asked quickly, aware that he didn’t want to interrupt Sherlock once he got into his session.

‘No. You can talk’ Sherlock mumbled ‘that might help’

‘What do you want me to say?’ John whispered,

‘Tell me about sex’ Sherlock replied nervously ‘what should it be like?’

John cleared his throat and thought about how to describe his entire sex life to a virgin who’s only experience with sex was one of violence.

‘Didn’t you and Janine ever…’ John asked,

‘No. She wanted to but I never’ Sherlock admitted ‘she did put my hand over her breast once when we were kissing’

John huffed a laugh and smiled at Sherlock’s innocent nature,

‘I’ll start at the beginning’ John began ‘usually people start with kissing like we did earlier only leading to more passionate and desperate snogs. I usually like to kiss down their necks and throats… wait, should I be using myself in these stories or generalise it? I don’t know’

‘No. You. Tell me what you like and what you do’ Sherlock insisted breathlessly

‘Okay, so kissing throats and necks is amazing because it’s so sensitive and sends tingles up and down your spine as you find the little places that nobody else knows about. You find what they like by experimenting’

‘I like the sound of that’ Sherlock whispered,

John nodded and continued ‘some people enjoy having their nipples played with. For some people, it’s really sensitive and pleasurable but for others, it’s just chafing’

‘Do- do you like it?’ Sherlock asked, his hand slowly wrapping itself around his shaft.

‘Sometimes’ John admitted ‘It depends on the person’

‘W-what else can people do?’ Sherlock replied,

‘Lots of people like different things, some people enjoy kissing all over the person’s body, others like just getting to the main event. The next logical step is normally stroking of the genitals, hand jobs are always enjoyable’ John said, his voice becoming breathy.

‘Why?’ the detective asked

‘Well… masturbation feels nice but having somebody else’s hand on your cock feels amazing. New pressures and strokes, different friction and actions; it can really be pleasant’ John replied,

‘I-I’d like to try that’ Sherlock admitted with a gasp, his thumb stroking his leaking tip.

John could feel his own cock twitching in his underwear; the erotic sounds of Sherlock’s voice becoming deeper with arousal, the slick sound of masturbation and the scent of Sherlock so close to him was almost too much but he soldiered on to continue,

‘I’d like to try it with you if you’d let me’ John admitted ‘there’s no rush though. I’m happy like this’

Sherlock felt the first tendrils of orgasm flooding his system as he stroked harder and faster; a soft sigh escaping his lips as he chased his climax.

‘Kiss me?’ Sherlock begged ‘Please John, I’m close’

John moved to lean over the detective’s lithe body, careful of the man’s cast and still healing ribs he lowered himself over the man to press their lips together; Sherlock groaned and gripped John’s thigh tightly as their tongues caressed one another with wild passion, John swallowed each groan and whimper to keep it locked away inside. He wished he had his own mind palace to dedicate an entire wing to the sound of Sherlock’s orgasmic whines.

Sherlock tensed as he neared his peak; his back arching and his mouth becoming sloppy and desperate as he got closer and closer to his release, he gasped once, twice and then he was coming with a deep groan. John stayed still and allowed Sherlock to ride his climax before he pulled away and stroked the dark curls from Sherlock’s face.

The detective winced as he removed his hand and trailed his fingers through the streaks of cum which had splashed onto his t-shirt. He had been in such a passionate haze that he had forgotten to pull the fabric up but he didn’t care, he simply pulled off the shirt and tossed it across the room as he tucked himself back into his bottoms and shuffled closer to John. His head resting on the doctor’s chest as the orgasmic afterglow washed over him and filled him with endorphins.

‘Thank you’ he whispered into the soft fabric of John’s shirt ‘thank you’

John placed a kiss on Sherlock’s crown and stroked his hands up and down the bare arms of his mate ‘You’re welcome’

‘You didn’t’ Sherlock worried as John shuffled awkwardly at the discomfort in his trousers.

‘It’s okay. I’ll go to the bathroom in a minute’ John soothed ‘Don’t worry about me’

Sherlock smiled and kissed the space right above John’s heart as he began to fall asleep; happiness and contentment flooding his veins.

* * *

 

John waited until Sherlock was asleep before moving him softly to his own side and escaping the bedcovers to walk to the bathroom; Sherlock mumbled unhappily at being moved but quickly went back to sleep as John clicked the bathroom door closed and locked it behind him as he sat on the cold toilet seat and freed his aching cock from his pyjamas. He wrapped his hand around his shaft and tugged carelessly, desperation forcing his hand to go quicker and harder as he leaked precum profusely. Smearing the wetness over his shaft he pulled on his balls and gasped as his orgasm burst from him in long, creamy ribbons which covered his fist and the floor. John inhaled shakily as he realised that he had been in the bathroom less than two minutes and let go of his now spent cock before washing himself up and cleaning the mess from the tiles and returning back to bed with the love of his life.

He lay back down in his space and thumped the pillows, wondering why he was so uncomfortable compared to usual before falling into a dreamless sleep with the sound of Sherlock’s soft and contented purrs surrounding him.


	12. The Realisation

Sherlock awoke to the sounds of birds outside the window; the house martins often nested close to Sherlock’s window and woke him with the soft sound of chirruping. His body felt warm as he slowly brought himself around from a deep sleep but something was new, something different to usual. The feeling of somebody wrapped around his body was enough to send his body and mind into overdrive as he felt the person’s erection pressed up between his buttocks. Sherlock threw himself from the bed and began to run; he unlatched the flat door and rushed down the stairs to the main door before fleeing outside into the cold London morning. His bare feet slapping against the pavement as he ran with no direction in sight just panic-stricken and desperate to escape the person pressed against his most broken area,

* * *

 

John panicked immediately as he felt Sherlock move from the bed; he had always been a rather light sleeper but the force of his orgasm the night before had allowed him to sleep heavier than usual. The first thing he noticed was the pale and scared looking detective fleeing from him and out of the flat doorway before John could even shout out and tell him to wait, realising the issue John cursed himself before rushing after Sherlock but he was too late. Sherlock was already out of the front door and down the street before John could get down the stairs.

Picking up his mobile John called Mycroft and was surprised when the politician answered on the second ring despite the early hour of the morning.

‘John?’ Mycroft said without a hint of sleep in his voice ‘everything alright?’

‘Sherlock’s ran out. He’s gone. He’s in his pyjama bottoms and nothing else and he seems to be in a complete state’ John said with a hint of panic in his voice,

‘Okay. Calm down’ Mycroft ordered ‘Which direction did he run?’

John gave Mycroft all of the information he had before throwing himself down on his chair with his head in his hand.

‘What caused it? I thought he was improving’ Mycroft said without judgement.

‘We’ve been sharing a bed. He has nightmares’ John answered ‘normally we put a pillow between us when we sleep but we forgot last night. He woke up to me wrapped around his back’

‘Ah’ Mycroft mumbled ‘I see’

‘Please, let me know when you have him’ John pleaded ‘please tell him I’m sorry’

‘Of course’ Mycroft answered ‘I’ll let you know’

* * *

 

Sherlock continued to run until his chest burnt and his feet bled from running on uneven and cobbled roads. His heart pounded and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he ran and ran with no notion of where he was going. He stopped as a black car pulled up alongside him and a perfectly attired Anthea climbed from the back,

‘Shh Sherlock, its okay’ she soothed calmly ‘Mycroft sent me’

Sherlock nodded and allowed himself to be put into the car whilst Anthea took the seat furthest away from the detective as instructed by her boss. Nobody spoke on the journey to Mycroft’s home; when the car pulled up, Anthea helped a hobbling Sherlock out of the car with a single hand on his arm and helped him to the front door where Mycroft opened it personally and held his brother to his chest, thanking his assistant and closing the door to the outside world.

Mycroft soothed Sherlock with soft words as they walked through the spacious entryway into the living area which had been stocked with clean towels, a fresh robe and a stoked fire. Sherlock turned to Mycroft and grabbed his brother tightly, causing both men to fall to the floor clumsily, Sherlock between Mycroft’s legs and his head resting against his brother’s shoulder.

‘Shh now Lockie, it’s okay’ Mycroft hushed ‘you’re safe now’

‘Myc… I ran… John’ Sherlock gasped between sobs,

‘John called me. He’s okay and so are you. You just got a little bit startled that’s all’ Mycroft smiled, stroking the hair from Sherlock’s eyes ‘although running through London in no shoes isn’t a good idea’ he tutted.

Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around his brother and allowed Mycroft to rock him back and forth the way they had done as children. Mycroft grabbed the robe from behind him and wrapped it around Sherlock’s cold body to warm him slowly as he made soft shushing noises into the emptiness around them.

* * *

 

Once Sherlock’s breathing and heart rate had settled to a normal level Mycroft reached for his mobile and typed out a message letting John know that Sherlock was safe. He placed his phone back on the table and continued to stroke Sherlock’s hair, remembering the memory of him and his brother beneath the oak tree. Mycroft realised that to anybody coming into the room from outside the scene was probably strange; a pyjama wearing politician rocking his half naked brother in his arms but he didn’t care about society or what people seemed _acceptable._ His brother needed support and love and Mycroft was willing to give it to him,

Sherlock spoke softly into the fabric of Mycroft’s paisley pyjamas which muffled the words to an inaudible level; Mycroft turned Sherlock’s face to him and asked him to repeat what he had said.

‘I love him’ Sherlock whispered ‘John Watson’

‘Obviously’ Mycroft snorted,

‘How can he love me when I’m like this’ Sherlock gestured to himself,

Mycroft stilled himself for a moment to gather his thoughts before he began to talk ‘Dr Watson is one of the best men I’ve ever met’ he said honestly ‘and you can see with every look at you that he adores you’

‘But…I can’t be what he wants’ Sherlock replied ‘I can’t give him the quiet, suburban life with children and dogs running around the lawn’

‘Is that what you think John wants?’ Mycroft asked puzzled ‘He had that with Mary yet after a month he was storming a drug den single-handed. John Watson loves the life he leads and he loves it because you are in it, Sherlock’

Sherlock sniffed back tears as he listened to his brother talking above him,

‘I don’t know about children or the dogs’ Mycroft admitted ‘but I can’t imagine that John would be happy to live in the suburbs without the danger and excitement of your lives. Have you tried talking to him?’

Sherlock nodded nervously and stayed silent until Mycroft sighed and asked ‘Well?’

‘He said he loves me too’ he admitted ‘he’s been patient and amazing with me whilst I was recovering. We kissed last night for the first time’ Sherlock blushed at talking about sentiment with his brother.

‘So what is it that you’re afraid of?’ Mycroft asked,

‘He’ll want what I can’t give him’ Sherlock whispered

‘Children?’ Mycroft replied,

‘ _Sex’_ Sherlock spat and whispered at the same time ‘He has always actively sought sexual gratification and I’m scared that if I can’t give him that, then he will leave’

Mycroft pulled his brother closer and stroked a hand slowly down his spine in a comforting gesture ‘You need to speak to John about it, I can’t say for certain but I rather think that he’s open to exploring your relationship’

Sherlock nodded against Mycroft’s chest as he let the advice sink in;

‘Can I stay here for a while first?’ he asked nervously, ‘I’ve missed this’

‘Of course, brother mine’ Mycroft smiled ‘of course’

* * *

 

John had been pacing for what seemed like hours; his limp had returned and his hand shook as he circled the living room again and again nervously until the door to the flat opened and Sherlock awkwardly limped through covered in a plush dressing gown and looking sheepish,

‘I’m sorry John’ the detective whispered looking down at his feet.

‘You bloody fool’ John said as he rushed towards Sherlock and grabbed his hands ‘Don’t ever apologise for that. It was my fault. I was careless and stupid’

Sherlock allowed John to help him to the sofa where he sat with his hands clutched between his thighs ‘I think we need to talk’

John’s stomach rolled and flipped; emotions bubbled to the surface and panic began to settle over the doctor’s nerves as he took a seat between the man he had considered his best friend, colleague and partner ‘okay’

‘John, I love you’ Sherlock began by whispering ‘but I’m afraid’

‘Of what?’ John replied,

‘That I can’t give you what you need’ Sherlock looked away and focused on the carpet ‘I don’t know if we will ever have sex if I’ll ever be ready or willing to try’

John frowned and narrowed his eyes as he watched Sherlock nervously speak,

‘I know you enjoy sex and actively seek it… which is why I don’t know whether this relationship would work. Without sex, you would be unfulfilled’

‘Sherlock wait’ John growled ‘are you telling me that you want to break up _whatever this is we’re having_ because you’re worried I’ll be unhappy with our sex life?’

Sherlock nodded and looked away flushed.

‘You bloody idiot’ John laughed watching Sherlock’s eyes meet his in surprise ‘I love you for you, not because of any sexual reasons’

‘But John…’ Sherlock began before being cut off by John,

‘Let me explain, or try to… you know I’m not good at this sort of thing’ John began, clearing his throat ‘After Julia died I expected that I wouldn’t find anybody else. When I got shot I expected to die alone in the sand and when I met you, I expected to pine over you unrequited because you were married to your work’

Sherlock tried to interrupt only to be stopped by John speaking once more,

‘When you died, a little piece of me died too and when I met Mary I settled. I don’t think I loved her; I just… didn’t want to be alone anymore. She was something to fill the space you left but she couldn’t. When you came back the emotion and feeling hit me like a freight train and I was angry. I was angry that I had wasted two years with somebody who wasn’t you but by then it was too late. Mary wanted to marry and insisted you helped the plan the wedding… I think she realised how much I loved you and wanted to show you that she had won. When you died the second time I realised that I never, ever wanted to let you leave me’ John grabbed for Sherlock’s hand and held it tightly.

‘Seeing you in that warehouse… fuck, Sherlock, it was like every emotion I was capable of was brought to the surface but you know what the main one was? Loyalty. You’re _my_ best friend, _my_ consulting detective and the love of _my_ life and I don’t think that will ever change’

Sherlock sniffed and looked up at the ceiling willing away the tears,

‘So tell me you don’t want to be with me because you’re not attracted to me, that you don’t want to be with me or that you’re married to your work and I’ll accept it… but I won’t accept that we can’t be together because of something as stupid and pointless as sex’

‘Won’t you miss it?’ Sherlock whispered,

‘Possibly, but I have a lifetime of experience in masturbation to see me through’ John laughed,

‘It’s not all activity’ Sherlock blushed ‘Id quite like to try _some_ things… just not… penetration’

‘Oh… OH! You mean actual penetration and not sex?’ John smiled ‘Oh god Sherlock seriously, don’t worry about that. I have no interest in being penetrated or penetrating you anally’

‘But…’ Sherlock started, obviously confused.

‘Not all gay couples indulge in penetrative sex you know?’ John clarified ‘There are a lot of other things that we can do together which would never even feature our bums’

Sherlock exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and tightened his grip on John’s hand ‘John Watson, you keep me right’ he smiled.

‘So is this confirmed then? Are we doing this?’ John smiled,

‘I think so’ Sherlock whispered, blushing crimson at the thought of finally getting his heart’s desire.

‘Come here then you big lanky sod’ John grinned and pulled Sherlock in for a hug ‘I bloody love you’

‘And I you John’ Sherlock smiled in return before bursting into floods of giggles which were quickly joined by John’s own.


	13. The Closeness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh yeah, Sexytimes are a go go!
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Hasn't been beta'd so let me know if you spot anything.

The men curled up together on the sofa; John insisted that Sherlock lay behind him as the big spoon whilst he slotted himself against Sherlock’s front. The detective had panicked and frozen for a second before relaxing as John soothed him with sweet nothings and soft, gentle strokes to Sherlock’s side. The couple relaxed and dozed together neither realising the catlike grace of their landlady who had entered the flat and was staring lovingly down at her tenants.

Martha Hudson hadn’t expected to become the landlady to a man-child and his sweet companion; her early life had been a constant party, spending her youth in the centre of London during the swinging sixties had ensured that she was never bored or lonely. Free love and unlimited drugs had allowed her to meet some of the most famous names in music and film ( _her mind rolled back to the delightful night spent with Mick Jagger in an expensive hotel room. That tongue…)_

Her life had taken a turn when she met her late husband; his empire had taken them to Florida and around the USA. She had met some delightful people, enjoyed her husband’s wealth and focussed on her own wishes until it had all crumbled around her ears. Her introduction to Sherlock Holmes had been confusing and overwhelming as the young, pale man gestured wildly at her and brought up some facts of which she had never told anybody. Working together, the pair had ensured that Frank had been put away onto Death Row and with Sherlock’s help; she managed to take a portion of Frank’s fortune back to London where she quickly bought the Baker Street address.

She had been happy when Sherlock asked if he could take 221B; she felt a motherly concern for the young man who seemed to be going off the rails judging by his thinner frame and red tinted eyes. She had been introduced to Lestrade around that time, the officer was working his way up the ranks of the Yard but had a special interest in Sherlock, helping the detective to avoid temptation and allowing him to help on cases. Martha opened her home and heart to Sherlock and Greg, adopting them as her own adult children and making sure that they were fed and looked after every chance she got.

Her relationship with Mycroft was more difficult; the politician acted snobbily and stuck up but Martha saw straight through it, Mycroft was a softie wrapped in bluster. His love for Sherlock was plain to see and she slowly grew to love Mycroft too, baking his favourite sweet desserts and sending them to his club whenever she had the chance.

When John Watson arrived on the scene; his bad leg and broken mentality had immediately worried Martha. She had taken to him immediately, offering him tea and attempting to soothe him with soft words, he had a temper which startled her but Martha Hudson would not be afraid! She’d been the wife of a drug tycoon; she’d met John Lennon and spent the night with the feisty Marianne Faithful. She wouldn’t be scared off by an army doctor who enjoyed a shout.

Looking down at the men cuddled together on the sofa; snoring softly and entwined in one another’s arms Martha felt her heart fit to burst. She loved the boys as though they were her own and she was glad that they had finally worked out that they were destined to be together.

She turned on her heel and softly closed the door behind her; retreating back to her own flat with a smile.

* * *

 

John awoke to large, colourless eyes staring down at him. He jumped and giggled as he realised that it was only Sherlock and relaxed into his lovers embrace once more; he had somehow turned onto his other side so that they were laid chest to chest on the sofa, Sherlock’s long legs hanging over the arm of the furniture as he stroked his fingers through John’s hair,

‘Did you know that you have six different colours in your hair?’ Sherlock asked quietly,

‘Nope,’ John whispered, nuzzling closer to Sherlock’s chest.

‘They go from brown to grey’ Sherlock continued ‘You can see them better when the light hits them’

‘Have you just been staring at me sleeping?’ John smiled,

‘No… well… a bit… but I was cataloguing’ Sherlock insisted nervously,

‘It’s okay. You can catalogue me all you like’ John grinned,

‘Could…’ Sherlock stopped and bit his lower lip,

‘Go on’ John insisted,

‘Could we go to bed? I’d like to see you’ Sherlock whispered with embarrassment ‘entirely’

John nodded and slowly moved to sit up and then stand, he grabbed for Sherlock’s hand and together they walked to the bedroom where they laid on top of the covers. Sherlock’s breathing was heavy and nervous as John placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips and soothed him,

‘As slow as you want’ John insisted ‘I’m here to be catalogued’

Sherlock smiled and nodded, his fingers running down John’s cheek.

‘I like this bit here’ Sherlock whispered, his fingers trailing down the slope of John’s nose to the slightly bulbous end making John go cross-eyed as he watched the long finger move.

‘And your lips’ Sherlock continued ‘I could write a sonata on your lips’

John blushed slightly and closed his eyes at the intimacy between them as Sherlock kissed his cheeks and over his jawline,

‘May I?’ the detective asked, motioning to John’s shirt. John helped him to pull off the pyjama top until he was laid topless on the bedspread,

‘This’ Sherlock whispered with something akin to reverence in his voice ‘this is what brought you to me’

John felt the first tentative strokes of fingers over the ruined muscle and tissue of his scar. The skin had never recovered full sensation but John could feel the warmth of Sherlock’s body pressed against him, feel the pressure and friction of long, violin callused fingers exploring his skin.

Sherlock lowered his head and ran his tongue across the strangely smooth scar; the taste of John’s body, his deodorant and the fabric conditioning lingering on his skin touched Sherlock’s tongue and was quickly stored away in the mind palace for future reference. His fingers moved to stroke the wound and his eyes flitted between John’s shoulder and eyes ‘is this ok?’

John nodded and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s head as he relaxed into the bed and let Sherlock explore. Sherlock gained confidence and began to move quicker, his tongue and lips moving to trace along John’s pectoral muscles and down over his still toned stomach. John chuckled as Sherlock lifted John’s arms and forced him to hold the headboard as he gently kissed and licked down John’s sides and up to his armpits. John realised what Sherlock was about to do moments before the detective pressed his face into the slightly hairy underarms and sniffed, John, grimaced and pulled away with a nervous ‘what are you doing?’

‘Is that a bit not good?’ Sherlock asked quizzically,

‘It’s a bit weird, that’s all’ John shrugged,

‘You’re clean; you don’t smell of anything’ Sherlock replied confused ‘I wanted to catalogue everything’

John shrugged once more and allowed Sherlock to continue, his hands, lips and tongue creating a map around John’s front, from neck to navel and side to side. John could feel that he was aroused, he had been since Sherlock suggested coming to bed, but he didn’t want to frighten Sherlock when the detective had been so courageous,

‘Sherlock?’ John whispered ‘I don’t want you to panic, but I’ve got a bit… excited’

‘Hmm?’ Sherlock asked looking down at the bulge in John’s pants ‘Oh’

‘Obviously, there’s no rush, I just… wanted to tell you’ John said softly,

‘Can I see?’ Sherlock asked, sitting up on his knees until his feet rested on his bum ‘I’d like to see’

‘If you’re sure’ John replied cautiously, realising that Sherlock was adamant he wanted it, John pushed his thumbs into his waistband and pulled the fabric from his waist, pushing them down until they reached his ankles where he kicked them across the room and replaced his hands by his side.

John had never been ashamed of his body; the lack of privacy in the army had ensured that being naked was no longer taboo or embarrassing. Communal showers had soon lost its shame as John became accustomed to being naked around other men, especially knowing that he had nothing to be embarrassed about size wise.

Sherlock’s eyes closed momentarily and he swallowed the panic in his throat as he looked down at his partners erection for the first time; Sherlock had never seen a naked and aroused man before ( _well… there was one time when he walked in on Mycroft as a teenager but that image had been deleted a long, long time ago)_ and John’s penis looked huge, it reminded Sherlock of a porn star. Sherlock inhaled and exhaled to steady himself before opening his eyes and staring down at the bobbing prick between John’s legs.

‘Ok?’ John whispered, his hand cupping Sherlock’s hip softly.

Sherlock nodded and moved his hand to slowly rub against John’s inner thigh; the doctor was slightly hairy with coarse blonde hairs covering his legs and groin, an untrimmed and unkempt bush of blonde-brown hair fuzzing around the base of John’s cock and balls. John stilled and felt his body trembling under Sherlock’s fingers as the detective moved closer and closer to the hardness which desperately ached for friction.

The middle finger of his hand touched John’s balls first, a gentle and teasing stroke to test the water before Sherlock moved his index and thumb to stroke the strange lumps inside the thin sac. John watched with a smile as Sherlock cocked his head and continued to investigate, rolling the skin between his fingers and pulling slightly. His eyes flicked up to meet Johns as he ever so softly gripped his boyfriend's cock and began a slow, timid up and down motion.

‘Is-is this good?’ Sherlock whispered,

‘Yes’ John choked, the feeling of Sherlock’s hand wrapped around his desperate flesh was almost enough to tip him over the edge immediately; it was only the thought of his Aunty Edna using a hula hoop that stopped him immediately finishing into Sherlock’s grip.

Sherlock continued to move his hand, watching as the first beads of precum leaked down the flesh and onto his bent fingers. The younger man looked up at John’s face, watching each facial expression as he changed the grip, experimenting with what felt good as he pulled back the foreskin and exposed the weeping head for the first time. Sherlock gasped as he looked down at the flushed tip, an almost reddish-purple in colour and leaking pearly moisture from the slit.

‘Beautiful’ Sherlock whispered as he watched his own hand moving up and down, almost forgetting that John was attached to the organ in his grasp.

‘S-Sherlock’ John stammered ‘Slow down or I’ll—oh god’

The detective removed his hand immediately and looked up panic-stricken ‘what? What did I do wrong?’

John inhaled shakily and shook his head ‘Nothing love, nothing. It was just too nice’

‘Oh’ Sherlock blushed ‘John, would you like to see me?’

‘More than anything’ John admitted with a smile, pulling Sherlock in for a deep and passionate kiss as the detective steeled himself for unveiling his own erection which was desperately seeking pleasure in his own pyjama bottoms.

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss and quickly undressed to his bottoms; taking a deep breath he pulled them down and sat bare and aroused for the first time.

‘You’re beautiful’ John whispered again, his voice breaking with emotion as he looked over at the perfectly pale and creamy skin until he reached the bobbing and flushed erection between Sherlock’s thighs.

The detective was perfectly proportioned as John expected; his cock long and thin much like the body it was attached to. The foreskin had retracted back around the glans and fluid slowly dripped down the flesh until it was caught in the neatly trimmed patch of dark hair. John felt momentarily lazy for avoiding his own personal grooming, he had never understood the interest in male pubic hair grooming but he had to admit, Sherlock’s looked much better.

Sherlock sat beside his lover and wrapped one hand around John whilst nudging John to take hold of Sherlock’s cock due to the cast on his wrist. John immediately understood and gripped tightly yet carefully, stroking up and down and following Sherlock’s own movements to better pleasure his boyfriend. Sherlock gasped and arched into the tight grip; his hips thrusting slightly as his own wrist worked John’s cock, bringing them both closer and closer to release.

‘Close’ John warned, his heart pumping faster at the sensations of pleasure thrumming around his veins ‘Oh god, Sherlock, yes’

‘John’ Sherlock mumbled ‘John, please, kiss me’

John pulled Sherlock down for a kiss; the position wasn’t comfortable but Sherlock managed to bend himself in order to press against John’s lips. Their tongues met and swept against one another as they got closer and closer,

‘John’ Sherlock gasped into the warmth of John’s mouth ‘god’

His orgasm ripped through him with unknown force as John stroked him through it; the doctor shuddered into his own climax as he felt Sherlock’s warm seed spray over his own cock to be used as lubricant. Sherlock’s now slick hand moved faster, gripped harder and John was undone; his cock twitched once, twice and he was coming over Sherlock’s fist and his own lower stomach with a breathy moan into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock stroked the remaining drops of cum from his prick before removing his hand and wiping away the moisture onto John’s stomach with a smile,

‘Hold on’ the younger man smiled as he jumped from the bed and walked towards the bathroom to collect a wet flannel. Returning to the bedroom he quickly cleaned John and his own hand before throwing the flannel to the floor and curling up beside his lover,

‘Was that ok?’ Sherlock asked nervously,

‘It was perfect’ John sighed contentedly ‘Blissful’

‘Are you going to go to sleep?’ Sherlock frowned

‘Mmmabit’ John grumbled, already dozing.

Sherlock nodded and climbed to put on his pyjamas before curling back into John’s arms. His lover might still be naked, but Sherlock knew that he could trust him.


	14. The Closeness Part 2,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure smut.

John followed Sherlock into the hospital waiting room as the detective gave his name at reception and waited to be called through; John sat twiddling his thumbs whilst Sherlock looked through a selection of leaflets with a quizzical look;

‘John?’ Sherlock frowned ‘I think I have TB’

‘You don’t have TB’ John sighed exasperatedly,

‘I get breathless when I run’ Sherlock gasped ‘loss of appetite and a cough! I have the symptoms!’

John put his head in his hands as he laughed dryly ‘Sherlock. You used to live on a diet of cigarettes and coffee, of course, you get breathless and have a cough. Also, loss of appetite? You never have an appetite, to begin with’ John explained before confiscating Sherlock’s leaflets.

‘If I die, I’m going to haunt you’ Sherlock warned John with a smile ‘I’m going to hide all of your tea and porn’

‘Sherlock!’ John hissed through gritted teeth ‘don’t mention porn outside the flat’

Sherlock grinned and relaxed back into the plastic chair to wait.

The doctor arrived soon after and shouted Sherlock’s name to come through to have his cast removed; John held Sherlock’s coat as the cast was cut and the overwhelming smell of unwashed skin permeated the air and made their noses wrinkle. The men were invited to sit whilst the doctor took more of Sherlock’s blood for a follow-up STI test and checked the man’s ribs. Sherlock complained bitterly but gave in when John gave his best Captain stare,

‘Well, it would seem that you’ve healed rather nicely Mr Holmes. A few bruises remain and your ribs may still be tender but take it easy and you’ll be back to your old self in no time’ the friendly doctor smiled. He was white-haired and jovial, he reminded John of the old guy from Jurassic Park.

‘Thank you’ John smiled to the man and helped Sherlock into his long coat; the detective grinning widely at being able to wear it correctly for the first time in eight weeks.

‘I’ll send the results in the post Dr Watson’ the other doctor smiled and held out his hand ‘take care now’

‘And you’ both men chimed as they left the room together.

* * *

 

‘Sherlock’ John sighed from his chair ‘what in god’s name are you doing?’

Sherlock looked up and fixed his gaze on John in confusion ‘I’m swabbing my arm’

‘Of course, you are’ John nodded ‘why?’

‘I haven’t been able to clean it in over eight weeks, John!’ Sherlock said excitedly ‘I want to see what is on it’

‘Oh god’ John grimaced ‘that’s disgusting’

‘If you think that’s disgusting… you probably shouldn’t look under your bed’ Sherlock said without looking up

* * *

 

John and Sherlock retired to bed early after Sherlock’s shower; the detective had hummed happily as he scrubbed his whole body for the first time in weeks. John lay on their shared mattress and read a few chapters of his novel whilst listening to Sherlock’s tuneful droning. The doctor heard the younger man climb from the tub and walk through into the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist,

‘That was amazing’ Sherlock smiled as he ran his fingernails up and down his freshly showered arm,

‘You smell nicer’ John grinned from the bed as he patted the mattress,

‘John, I was wondering…’ Sherlock began before trailing off and blushing

John put down his book and turned to face his boyfriend with a supportive grin ‘Go on’

Sherlock inhaled deeply before dropping his towel to the floor and baring himself completely in the lamplight.

‘Ooookay’ John drawled ‘do you want my opinion on something or?’

Sherlock looked disgruntled and narrowed his eyes at John ‘I’m being erotic and spontaneous! That’s what they do in films’

‘Oh’ John smiled ‘I see’

Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms over his chest; a ridiculous gesture which made him look like a petulant ( _and very naked)_ child ‘This wasn’t the reaction I expected’

John rolled his eyes and sighed ‘Sherlock, you came into the room and dropped your towel in the most unsexy way possible’

The doctor knew that he had said the wrong thing immediately and grimaced as Sherlock’s eyes widened and his jaw set,

‘I’m sorry John’ Sherlock spat ‘What would I know about romance and seduction? You’re the expert’

‘Sherlock, I didn’t mean’ John attempted before being interrupted by Sherlock striding back and forth around the room.

‘I tried John! I thought you would have wanted to see me naked but I was obviously wrong’

‘Shh don’t be silly, you just caught me off guard’ John soothed ‘come and get into bed with me’

Sherlock stopped pouting and complaining as he threw himself down onto the bed and folded his arms again.

John carefully moved until he was resting above Sherlock with a smile on his face ‘I’m going to kiss that sulky pout right off your face, is that ok?’

Sherlock nodded and puckered up slightly to allow John to lick and kiss the bow-shaped lips; he nuzzled the soft cheeks with his nose and nibbled against the fleshy earlobes.

‘You’re so beautiful’ John whispered as he continued kissing down Sherlock’s jawline.

‘John don’t say-’ Sherlock replied, flushing pink.

‘I’m going to say it every chance I get’ John insisted ‘until you believe it’

Sherlock quieted whilst John pressed kisses along the soft skin of his lover’s throat and clavicle. John hummed with happiness as John explored his virgin skin, the warm and soap scented flesh tasting perfect to John’s tongue.

‘May I go further?’ John asked watching Sherlock nod excitedly.

John wriggled further down the bed and began using his hands and lips in unison to drive Sherlock insane with lust and pleasure. His cock plumped against his thigh as he watched John take his nipples into his mouth and suck them softly,

‘Tell me if I do anything you don’t like’ John whispered, lowering his head to the pointy nubs.

John may not know his way around a man sexually, but so far it was remarkably like being with a woman. Sherlock was extremely sensitive and receptive to every touch and stroke, his sighs and moans sounding like music to John’s ears. The doctor nipped and sucked at Sherlock’s nipples, blowing and pinching at the sensitive buds until they stood erect and desperate; John smiled as he continued exploring Sherlock’s body, trailing kisses down the younger man’s sides and stomach and then up his arms and back down until he was sucking on the thin, long digits of Sherlock’s fingers.

‘How’ Sherlock choked ‘How can having my fingers and wrists played with feel so sensual?’

‘Nerve endings’ John moaned as he nuzzled against the thin skin of Sherlock’s wrist once more, his tongue licking patterns into the pale flesh.

Sherlock grabbed for John and pulled his up to his lips; the two men spent long moments heatedly kissing, their tongues dancing against one another as they panted and groaned with desperation. John felt his own cock hard in his pyjamas and angled his body away from Sherlock to ensure he didn’t spook him.

‘I want to feel you again’ Sherlock whispered placing a kiss on the side of John’s lips ‘but I’m afraid and feel anxious’

‘Don’t be’ John soothed, his fingers trailing through the curls ‘tonight is all about you’

Sherlock nodded nervously and closed his eyes before calming his breathing with deep measured breaths. John nuzzled his nose into the cleft of Sherlock’s hipbone and stroked his hands up and down the long legs which had been splayed slightly in anticipation, Sherlock’s erect cock bobbing against his flat stomach and leaking profusely onto his skin.

‘Please’ Sherlock whimpered ‘John please’

‘Soon love’ John replied with a smile, kissing down Sherlock’s inner thighs and down the lightly haired calves until he reached the bony and graceful toes on Sherlock’s feet. Sherlock looked down quizzically as he watched John lick and suck each toe into his mouth and swirl his tongue around.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Sherlock asked with a smile

‘Feel good?’ John asked nervously,

‘Strange’ Sherlock admitted ‘not as nice as my fingers’

‘Good, okay, at least I know what sort of things you like’ John smiled as he kissed his way back up Sherlock’s body until he was at eye level with his lover's cock.

‘This… I have no idea what I’m doing’ John admitted as he warily eyed the long, thin erection which had flushed almost purple with want.

‘I won’t know any different’ Sherlock soothed

John steeled himself and moved to better position himself between the V of Sherlock’s legs; his arms lying under Sherlock’s thighs as he stared at the first erection he had seen up close. Maintaining eye contact with his lover, John slowly licked a stripe from base to tip, tasting the salty moisture on the head for the first time and listening to Sherlock gasp and groan in pleasure. Feeling more confident, John gave small kitten licks up the painfully erect shaft, occasionally moving down to lick at the neglected bollocks beneath. Sherlock gasped and arched his back as his tip began to weep moisture until it was dripping freely into the bush of black curls.

John moved his hand and wrapped it around his lover’s base as he licked and sucked on the head, trying to remember what he personally enjoyed when receiving oral sex. He soon had a steady rhythm and although he couldn’t take more than the first inch of tip, Sherlock was groaning and whimpering like a porn star, his fists tight into the bedding as John brought him closer and closer to release.

Sherlock felt his orgasm approach quickly and moved to warn John but it was too much, his eyes closed tightly and his mouth gaped as his orgasm washed over him stronger than any he had ever felt before. John felt the shaft swell and Sherlock’s balls tighten and quickly pulled away, using his hand to stroke him through his first ever oral orgasm. Sherlock thrust into the circle of John’s hand and cried out as he began to cum; the first rope landed on John’s chin and nose, closely followed by smaller spurts which soaked John’s fist which was wrapped around the shaft.

‘God’ Sherlock mumbled, his body trembling.

John took off his shirt and wiped his face before moving to lie beside his lover; opening his arms he waited until Sherlock came back to earth and shuffled into his boyfriend’s sweet embrace. John kissed him lazily and stroked his hair behind his ear as Sherlock controlled his breathing and relaxed into the circle of John’s arms, enjoying the feeling of the slightly hairy chest rubbing against his face.

Sherlock moved his hand and entwined his pinkie with John’s, a memory of John’s amazing support which meant so much to the detective. The men stayed in that position for long moments, enjoying the sensations of closeness.


	15. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this one and then it's done. It's been a real labour of love and I really thank everyone for their kind comments and kudos, especially considering the loss of my Grandma.
> 
> You're all awesome.

**_The Blog of Dr John Watson entry:_ **

_As some of you may have heard; Sherlock has recently had a little bit of an accident which resulted in a rather lengthy hospital stay and some TLC from his ever-present (and handsomely good looking) live in doctor. This is just a quick note to thank everyone for the lovely and supportive comments over the last few months, Sherlock is on the mend, he had a broken wrist which has thankfully healed with no real lasting damage and a few bust ribs as well as the most dramatic set of black eyes I’ve seen in a while but all of his wounds have healed and he’s hoping to be back at work (and running across rooftops) very soon._

_Another thing I wanted to raise was the change in our relationship; Seeing Sherlock on the hospital bed in pain made me rethink a few of my emotions and feelings towards him. It seems he felt the same way and after a long and emotional discussion, we have decided to proceed in a romantic relationship. I understand people will be shocked what with my insistence of heterosexuality (According to Tumblr, sexuality isn’t fluid… whatever that means) and will be interested regarding the relationship but I ask that people give us space and privacy to work on something which means so much to us. More detail will be revealed if (and when) anything interesting happens case wise but until then, just a big thank you to everyone for your continued support._

_Dr J.H Watson & Mr S. Holmes._

_Edit: Peter from Angelos. If you would kindly inbox us your address we will send you the autographs you hoped for._

* * *

 

** 6 Months after the incident: **

Sherlock hadn’t had a case for months; at first it was because he was healing and John refused to allow the detective to spend his recovery time running around rooftops and being shot at. The men instead focussed on getting Sherlock better and more accustomed to his new life with the limitations that his anxiety gave. The couple spent an evening in bed discussing their new relationship and how it would affect their working life; neither could think of a negative reason that they shouldn’t continue to work together ( _except that John insisted Sherlock’s arse looked wonderful whenever he bent over a corpse. Something which should never be sexy)_

Their home life was mostly unchanged except they now shared a bed full time; Sherlock would rise early and leave John to sleep or John would wake up and make tea, leaving a cup on Sherlock’s table for when he awoke. Their sex life was satisfying and enjoyable without any major flaws; both men found that they were able to express their fantasies and desires freely without embarrassment and Sherlock found that he was able to open up about his experience in the warehouse a little more; especially when he had _researched_ the BDSM community and worked himself up into a frenzy thinking that John would want to tie him up. John had found that Sherlock didn’t like anything around his wrists anymore, refusing to even wear a watch as it felt too constricting against his skin. The doctor never mentioned it but was always extremely careful both in bed and out to ensure that he never grabbed Sherlock’s arms. Blindfolding was also out of the question, the inability for Sherlock to have anything over his eyes was another thing which John accepted without issue.

‘I’d like to go back to work’ Sherlock mentioned one day over breakfast. John was sitting reading the paper whilst Sherlock stirred honey into his tea.

‘Cases you mean?’ John replied over the top of the paper

Sherlock nodded and looked at John ‘You know that I’m up to it’

‘I know that’ John admitted ‘I just…’

‘Don’t want to see me get hurt’ Sherlock finished with a roll of his eyes ‘I know’

‘If you think you’re ready, then I’m with you’ John smiled, reaching out to squeeze Sherlock’s hand ‘Text Lestrade’

* * *

 

John was washing up as he heard the heavy _clunk_ from the bedroom above; what had once been his bedroom had since been turned into a makeshift lab for Sherlock’s experiments complete with his own fridge and countless other gadgets which John had never even seen before. The doctor was pleased to finally have a kitchen to himself; being able to open the fridge and attempt to find cheese without moving a human head was a fantastic novelty. He looked out of the window over the courtyard behind the house and watched Mrs Hudson happily pottering around her greenhouse, repotting a plant. He was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and desperate love for his family, for Sherlock and Mrs Hudson, for Lestrade and even Mycroft who still popped over whenever he was in the area. The brothers had seemed to grow closer and John had sworn that he saw Mycroft tuck a stray thread of hair behind Sherlock’s ear once which Sherlock had denied. All in all, John Watson was content.

His thoughts were interrupted by hands holding his hips and warm lips kissing his neck.

‘Mmmmm hello love’ John groaned, turning his head to give Sherlock better access to his throat.

‘Missed you’ Sherlock whispered

‘I’ve been here all day’ John laughed and turned; his hands still soapy and wet.

‘I could hear you thinking from upstairs’ Sherlock whispered into his ear as he nibbled the earlobe beneath, ‘you were thinking about how happy you are’

‘Mind reader’ John quipped as he put his hand on Sherlock’s lower back, soaking the purple fabric of his shirt with sudsy water.

‘Do I make you happy?’ Sherlock whispered seductively,

‘You know you do’ John replied, his cock twitching in his trousers at the hungry look in Sherlock’s eyes.

Sherlock moved quickly and pushed John against the cupboard door; slipping to his knees he quickly removed John’s cock from his trousers and underwear and began to lick and suck around the already hardened prick. John gasped and let his head drop back as Sherlock’s talented tongue circled and licked at the sensitive head whilst he created suction and took more of John inside his mouth and throat.

‘Fuck’ John hissed, his urge to hold Sherlock’s head and thrust growing, he wouldn’t though. The few times they had tried it, Sherlock had immediately retreated and almost fainted from a panic attack; the detective was adamant that he could do it, but John refused to try any longer. He was happy with slow and sensual.

Sherlock flicked his eyes up to meet John as he widened his throat and sucked him in further, swallowing and massaging the tip of John’s cock with his muscles, feeling the precum oozing down his throat straight into his belly.

‘Sherlock’ John whispered, his hands resting in the raven curls carefully.

The detective smiled around the prick in his mouth and began to hum; the vibrations tickling through John’s entire body and centring in his balls ‘fuck’ he gasped ‘fuck, god Sherlock… going to cum… going to-’

John had given him lots of warning; Sherlock had never seemed interested in swallowing John’s load, instead, he preferred to have it cover his skin. The younger man would trail his fingers through the cooling cum until John arrived with a flannel to clean him off.

‘Sherlock, I can’t hold it anymore, please, pull off’ John begged, his cock desperately twitching with need to climax.

Sherlock looked up and met John’s eyes before humming once more and sending John over the edge. The doctor came with a deep and desperate keen as he began to unload into Sherlock’s mouth and throat; Sherlock pulled away but kept the twitching and pulsing cock on his tongue as he swallowed each stringy rope, tasting the slightly bitter and salty cum travel into his belly.

‘Christ’ John mumbled, his legs felt weak and his whole body trembled with the force of his orgasm ‘Sherlock, you’re amazing’

John pulled his lover up for a long and passionate kiss; he tasted himself on Sherlock’s lips and tongue but he didn’t care. The two snogged for a long time as Sherlock tucked John away into his trousers and ran his fingers through John’s multi-coloured hair,

‘John?’ Sherlock whispered.

‘Yes, Sherlock?’ John replied,

‘I’m happy too’

* * *

 

‘John wake up’ the shrill sound of an excited Sherlock resonated through the darkness wrapped around John as he slept soundly.

‘Whaaddywant?’ John grumbled, pulling the cover over his head ‘m’sleefinf’

‘Get. Up’ Sherlock punctuated each word with a sharp jab to John’s side ‘we have a case’

‘No. I’ve made a nest. I’m staying here. You should come in with me’ John mumbled reaching for Sherlock’s arm.

‘My goodness you’re annoying’ Sherlock huffed ‘A case John! It’s at least a 7 maybe even an 8!’

‘Does it involve leaving the bed?’ John whined from beneath the duvet but he was already awake and awaiting Sherlock’s information.

‘What? Of course, it does John’ Sherlock said angrily ‘Please get up and put on some trousers’

John sighed and pulled the cover from around his head as he looked up at his brilliantly annoying boyfriend ‘I remember a time when we used to say those things to you’ he grumbled as he got up ‘make me tea’

‘We don’t have time!’ Sherlock insisted excitedly,

‘Fine. I need a piss though’ John groaned as he stretched and walked in just his underwear to the toilet to relieve himself. He dressed quickly and the two men were out of the door, Sherlock magically flagged down a cab and they were on the way back to Scotland Yard like the old days.

Neither man spoke on the way to the Yard; Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed in the middle as he pondered but John was happily yawning and looking out of the window over a dreary and grey London.

 _‘Why is Lestrade making us go to the office instead of the crime scene?_ ’ Sherlock began to wonder, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Too soon the taxi pulled up outside the building and Sherlock swooped from the cab and left John grumbling to pay the fare; John raced to catch up to the striding detective who was quickly through the double doors and upstairs to Lestrade’s division.

He opened the door; peering through at the empty office with a sick and heavy feeling in his stomach. He immediately began to panic that something was wrong, where was everyone?

John clicked on the lights and the entire department jumped from their hiding places with a ‘ _surprise!’_ causing Sherlock to startle slightly before turning to stare at John who was smiling happily.

‘What’s this?’ Sherlock asked outraged, it wasn’t his birthday or another special occasion which would usually result in a party.

Lestrade walked over with a grin and held out his hand for Sherlock to take; the detective was still wary and nervous around other people but he had found that John, Mycroft, Lestrade and Angelo were the exception. Holding his hand out he shook Lestrade’s hand but was still confused,

‘I don’t…’ he began before being cut off by Lestrade.

‘We just thought we’d celebrate you being back on the job’ the DI smiled, ‘Truth is, we’ve all missed you’

‘I haven’t’ came a snide remark from the back of the room where Anderson was seated, his back to the party.

‘Shut up Anderson’ Sherlock, John and Lestrade said in unison before smiling.

‘I…I don’t know what to say’ Sherlock admitted, his heart beating fast and his eyes watering with emotion he was unsure of.

John moved beside him and entwined their fingers together; nobody stared or commented on the gesture as the doctor gently comforted his lover with soft strokes of his thumb against the soft skin.

‘Anyway. Mrs Hudson made cake and we have wine… apparently, Mycroft sent it’ Lestrade shrugged ‘and I have three boxes of cold cases’

Sherlock’s eyes lit up with happiness as he looked down at John and then Lestrade. Removing his hand from John’s he wrapped his arms around his friend and whispered ‘Thank you’ directly into Lestrade’s ear.

‘You’re welcome’ Lestrade smiled as he patted Sherlock’s back ‘You know I’d do it anytime’

‘No. I mean… thank you’ Sherlock said as he pulled away and stared at Greg knowingly.

‘Oh… that’ Greg flushed ‘Well yeah, couldn’t let him get away with it’

Sherlock nodded and took John’s hand again as he looked around the room filled with people of whom he had worked for years, people who had seen him at his lowest and some of them who had even rescued him from the warehouse. Sherlock didn’t feel embarrassed, he felt privileged.

‘Shall we mingle?’ John grinned ‘It’s okay if it’s too much’

‘Let’s try’ Sherlock smiled ‘Stay with me?’

‘Always’ John replied as he wrapped his pinkie into Sherlock’s own.


	16. The Final Payback,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. Thank you
> 
> I know nothing of Ukrainian prisons/criminal justice/ or people of the name given. It's just something I googled

Mycroft walked through the doors of the Donetsk prison with his disguise in place. He was undercover as a high ranking Captain of the Ukrainian police force, his orders written as an inmate transfer. He walked straight-backed and proud as he was escorted to the cell of one Viktor Nalyvaiko, mob boss, murderer and the man who ordered the rape and torture of Sherlock. Mycroft steeled his face into one of bored neutrality as the door to the cell was opened and the man shuffled fully shackled out into the corridor.

Viktor stared at Mycroft and narrowed his eyes in suspicion before turning to his usual guard and asking ‘what’s going on?’ in Ukrainian,

‘Transfer; you’re being taken to another facility’ Mycroft answered in perfect Ukrainian,

‘Why?’ Viktor asked,

‘Because somebody wants you there’ Mycroft replied, his voice laced with boredom as he stared down at the criminal.

‘I wasn’t informed’ Viktor spat,

‘Not my problem’ Mycroft shrugged ‘I’ve been told to ensure you get there safely’

Mycroft and the prison guard stepped on either side of Viktor as they walked towards the rear exit of the prison; Mycroft signed the paperwork under his pseudonym and nodded to the prison warden who stood watching proceedings with a nervous stare. Viktor and his guards exited the complex to where a secure truck sat waiting filled with officers in the same uniform as Mycroft’s, the two guards helped Viktor to climb into the back of the truck where he was handcuffed and shackled to the walls to ensure his safety before the prison guard removed himself and said goodbye, slamming closed the doors and tapping against the roof to signal that he was clear and they could drive.

The vehicle set off slowly through the barbed wire fences and gates until they were out on the open road; Viktor looked out of the black tinted windows and frowned ‘Which facility are you taking me to?’

‘Baskerville’ Mycroft smiled using his normal voice,

Viktor frowned ‘I’ve never heard of it’

‘You wouldn’t would you?’ Mycroft grinned ‘It’s a darling facility situated in South West England’

‘E-England?’ Viktor stammered,

‘Ah yes, you see. I rather think we have a lot to talk about but first let me introduce myself. I’m Mycroft Holmes’

‘Holmes?’ Viktor gasped ‘Sherlock Holmes?’

‘My baby brother’ Mycroft answered ‘It seems your friends did a rather good job on him. Injured him but didn’t kill him’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ Viktor stammered, sweat forming on his brow as he attempted to slip his cuffs.

‘Oh, my mistake. You see, when we were torturing your friends they informed us that you were the one who was instrumental in the planning of my brother’s ordeal. Have you heard from any of them recently?’ Mycroft enquired looking at his nails and removing his hat,

Viktor stayed silent and stared at Mycroft speechless.

‘Three of them are currently in unmarked graves somewhere in England, one was poisoned and suffered dreadfully and the other is currently residing in a storage container at the bottom of the North channel’ Mycroft said menacingly ‘which leaves only you’

* * *

 

From the prison, the truck drove straight to a private runway where a private jet was waiting for Mycroft and his assistants. They half dragged the mob boss onto the plane and replaced the handcuffs and shackles onto the handrails which had been installed especially. Mycroft had expected more of a fight from Viktor but so far the man had stayed almost catatonically still and silent, unwilling or unable to answer Mycroft’s questions in either English or Ukrainian.

Mycroft excused himself to his own private chamber and changed from his Captain uniform into his usual three-piece suit and umbrella. Brushing his hair and reapplying cologne he re-emerged into the main body of the plane looking and feeling much more himself as he took a seat opposite his prisoner, he poured a glass of fine scotch and took a swig as he stared at the man.

‘I expected you to be bigger’ Mycroft admitted

Viktor looked up and snarled ‘That’s why I was so successful. Everyone underestimates me’

‘Quite’ Mycroft smiled and took another drink ‘I have a similar experience. Nobody expects that under this façade of English country values I really run the entire government. Nothing happens without my say so; I have a lot of allies’

‘That’s how you found my boys?’ Viktor asked,

‘They weren’t that difficult’ Mycroft admitted with a shrug ‘with the right resources’

* * *

 

The plane landed on a small runway in Exeter and Mycroft began to walk towards the exit of the aircraft when a commotion caught his attention; Viktor had managed to push his way out of the hold in which Mycroft’s assistants had him, he ran straight towards Mycroft who nimbly moved to one side and lifted the concealed weapon from his belt and shot the man in the thigh causing him to fall to the floor with a shout. Mycroft glared at his assistants who looked sheepish as they helped a now bleeding and in pain Viktor from the floor of the plane and down the stairs into the waiting car to take them to the next facility.

Mycroft hadn’t visited Baskerville for a while but it was exactly how he remembered it as he pulled up to the gate and showed his all-access pass ( _one which had been reissued since Sherlock stole it)_ and smiled at the guards as they waved him through. His driver pulled up outside the most guarded and highly secret complex of the facility where they were met by Dr Stapleton and a selection of trusted doctors and scientists. Mycroft exited the vehicle and walked to meet his contact;

‘Mr Holmes’ the pretty woman smiled, extending her hand ‘nice to finally meet you’

‘Charmed’ Mycroft smiled as he returned the handshake ‘so, you’re working on a new project I hear?’

Dr Stapleton nodded and motioned for them to enter the facility where they had been housed. Swiping their cards they waited for validation before entering the large and spotlessly clean laboratory.

‘Infectious diseases?’ Mycroft added,

‘For the use of biological warfare and terrorism,’ the doctor replied as she continued to walk and show Mycroft around ‘unfortunately we find it hard to run conclusive tests on animals and unfortunately we don’t have any volunteers to be infected with plague or flesh-eating bacteria so…’

‘I see’ Mycroft nodded as they reached her office ‘I think I have just the man’

* * *

 

Viktor was introduced to the scientists by Mycroft who explained the unfortunate incident of bullet in leg. Dr Stapleton insisted that she would see to it personally and ordered that Viktor be taken to his new lodgings. A tiny, empty and extremely cramped cell furnished with only a plastic basin, toilet and bed. When Mycroft and Dr Stapleton were alone, the woman turned to the politician with concern on her face,

‘I heard about Sherlock, how is he?’ she asked genuinely,

‘He’s… improving’ Mycroft replied ‘He has Dr Watson to help him but I rather think that he has a while to go yet’

The scientist nodded sadly and looked at the direction where Viktor was being half dragged to his cell ‘If it helps, please know that he will be in agony. The strains of viruses and diseases we will be using are rather virulent and unpleasant’

‘Good’ Mycroft smiled ‘as painful as possible but Doctor may I request something?’

‘Of course’ the woman replied quizzically,

‘Don’t let him die… for a while anyway’

Dr Stapleton nodded and excused herself to see to Viktor’s leg, leaving Mycroft alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 

** One week later: **

Mycroft sat in the debrief room surrounded by doctors and scientists in white lab coats; although he wasn’t as interested in science as his brother, he could still make out enough of the topic to follow the conversation;

‘Phase one is complete. Subject has been infected 48 hours and is currently showing signs of infection and pain. I suggest that we begin stage two and begin lancing and investigating followed by the serum which has been developed’ the head scientist spoke clearly, watching as the others nodded in agreement with her plan.

‘Let’s see test subject one shall we?’ Dr Stapleton said softly as she gestured to the glass lined room where Viktor lay on a table surrounded by beeping machines.

‘Please. Kill. Me’ Viktor cried, his voice hoarse and his body burning from the inside,

‘I want to lance the boil beneath his armpit and the one in his groin please’ Dr Stapleton ordered through the glass.

‘It hurts’ Viktor cried,

‘I’m sure’ Dr Stapleton said softly before turning her attention back to her mission ‘okay, I want to drain the fluid from the pustule and have it sent off to be tested ASAP’

‘Please’ Viktor begged ‘I’ll be good’

The sound of Mycroft’s derisive snort was loud in the small glass room where Viktor lay; the thug looked up to see the politician looking down at him in disgust.

‘Do you like what we do to you?’ he asked Viktor who stared up with wide, afraid eyes.

‘Yes… yes, I like what you do to me’ Viktor screamed, panic lacing his words.

‘Good’ Mycroft smiled ‘You heard him, keep going’

The sounds of screaming may have echoed around the lab, around Baskerville or around the whole of the UK but to Mycroft, there wasn’t a sweeter sound.


End file.
